Who am I?
by epsi10n
Summary: Eager for more power, Galbatorix tried to create the first dragon Shade. The spirit he'd summoned took pity on the poor dragon and merged their souls rather than simply taking control of the body. Now with a mind to match his rage, the new Shruikan plans to dish out justice while he searches for his new Name. (Disclaimer: I own nothing)
1. Chapter 1

Shruikan opened his eyes by a hair's width as the door soundlessly opened, and promptly closed them again as his master approached.

_Rejoice, my steed, for today you will become more powerful than ever_, his master thought to him. He waited for a tendril of thought to look into his mind for a reaction, but it never came. There was hardly anything to see, in any case. Whatever coherent thoughts he had was drowned out by black rage and the thirst for destruction.

But in the innermost part of his mind Shruikan was dimly aware of this madness, and he detested it.

Shruikan was helpless as he felt the spirits reach up to him, their icy touch assaulting his mind. Instinctively he tried to push them away, but he knew it was a matter of time before he would be overpowered. As the last of his defences shatter, he begged with all his will for the spirits to be kind, and spare him the little sanity he had left…

Ritual completed, Galbatorix checked his dragon for any signs of change. He was not entirely surprised to find none. Shades have never been created from dragons before, after all. Still, he was disappointed.

If he had left the chamber a second later, he would have seen the pair of blue eyes snap open.

* * *

Drifting through the timeless emptiness of the ether, the one known in life as Harry Potter felt the barrier between himself and the living realm open yet again. Yet another imbecile was attempting to tap the spirits' power for his own gains, but spirits were never so easily manipulated. Already, the darkest, cruelest spirits swarmed toward the beckon, ready to answer the call then crush the caller into oblivion.

He was about to direct his attention elsewhere when he caught a glimpse of the mind on the other side. This one was different, he noticed. This one was held against its will, free from greed, and simply wanted an end to its suffering. Surely it deserved better than to become a vessel for evil… Resolved, he reached for the tortured mind. Others tried to climb over him or knock him out of the way, but he was too strong for them. Their souls were maimed in their remorseless crimes, and his was whole.

Whispering a gentle reassurance, he merged with the light.

* * *

The first thing he felt was anger. Unfocused anger laced with fear and revolt swirled around him, blocking out his senses and preventing him from thinking clearly.

Next came the memories.

The life of the body he inhabited slammed against him like the river during a heavy storm. He was stolen as a hatchling by the Oath Breaker king. He had a perverted sort of "bond" forced upon him with dark magic. He was the test subject for many twisted and painful experiments, all to make him more destructive as a weapon. And he was forced to obey, even assist in the slaughter of his own kin. When the last of the memories settled, he had no more doubt that the anger was his own.

_Peace, he told the other presence_ – no, more like the other part of himself – _we must stay calm if we're to cause any meaningful damage_. Habitually, he established a mental agenda similar to the ones aurors used on missions.

_Step 1: Find my bearings._

He was unbound and free to move, although the ceiling was too low for him to stand at his full height. Neither could he find any magical wards upon prodding his surroundings. There was a time, he recalled, when the king would force his way into his mind and will him to behave. Then when he was slightly older his true name had been discovered, and that alone sufficed to keep him docile. _But I'm a merger of two souls, and I should no longer serve the same purpose. So now…?_

His blue eyes widened as he realized its implication. Surely his name would've changed as he had changed! He carefully strengthened the thin shield in the innermost part of his mind until it became an impenetrable sanctuary, for his new identity and the precious speck of hope.

The large window in the dragonhold was warded against intruders like the rest of the castle, but it was hardly designed to prevent his exit. He wobbled slightly as he rose to a low crouch. _Step 2: Escape._

He had to fight down the burning desire to provoke the Oath Breaker into a confrontation, which would've been most unwise. Silently, he pushed off and vanished into the night sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry this one's so short. I tried to combine it with either the previous chapter or the next, but it didn't really fit.**

* * *

_Get that oversized lizard of yours to land. I found something important._ Brom sounded annoyed, even for his usual irritable self. Eragon reluctantly asked Saphira to land. Who would've thought that flying could be so wonderful? He could still feel the wind in his hair, the ground a blur beneath him. Never in his life had he felt so free…

Looking around, he realized that he was in a sizable clearing. Brom was waving at him impatiently while pointing at a spot in the grass. "Here," he said when he finally broke Eragon out of his reverie, "look at the ground and tell me what you see."

There were long, parallel gouges in the ground, as if the soil had been ripped apart. Eragon thought they looked familiar, but couldn't place where he'd last seen them except… "I've no idea," he shrugged, "When I look at them I can think of nothing but dragon prints. What are they really?"

"Oddly enough, the most plausible explanation I can offer is your own. If you consider their length and spacing, whatever made these must be larger than Saphira. Such a creature must be known to society," Brom scratched his chin, "Of course, it might also be possible that someone used a rake. Maybe something's buried here."

Eragon eyed the patch dubiously. Most of the clearing was covered by grass, making it impossible to identify footprints. Had the dragon taken off alone, assuming that it had been here in the first place? "I thought Saphira is the only dragon alive?"

"It is most curious, yes. The king will not deploy his own dragon at such an early stage. It's possible that he managed to hatch one of the other eggs, but why the new dragon would be flying over the Spine is beyond me. Perhaps we might find out when we reach the next settlement. Come, let's get back to camp."

Eragon nodded and relayed their discussion to Saphira. She hummed thoughtfully. She wondered if she'd finally meet one of her kin, and whether there was another Rider. _Murderers' dragons have not the galls to fly over these forests. The Vardens must have managed to steal an egg._

_Maybe, but didn't Brom say it's virtually impossible now? Whoever the Rider is, we have to be careful._

_You need not worry for me. I will keep myself hidden, though I still say the Rider is a friend. No dragons would hatch for the murderers. _

_I don't know why,_ Eragon thought, _but somehow I feel… relieved. Like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders._

_It is the weight of destiny. The possibility of another good Rider means that you will not be alone._ Moments like these made Eragon remember how wise she was.

They were silent for a while. _If I am a big sister, _Saphira said smugly, _I will teach the young ones all they need to know as daughters of the sky._

And Eragon remembered again how young she was.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Idk why I'm posting three chapters in the same day but since I already wrote it... (is this long enough I wonder?)**

**I thought I read somewhere that Shruikan's eyes were blue, as much as I wanted them to be green lol**

* * *

"M-Merlin…"Harry-Shruikan could swear he'd never been so shocked before, not once in his two pasts.

He'd been flying over what he remembered to be the Spine for several days, stopping only once to hunt and twice to rest. He wanted to move as far away from his prison as fast as possible, for one, but he couldn't bring himself to land in any case. Both his lives could rightfully be called "sons of the sky", and he longed to take to the air once more. He could turn, roll, and dive at every whim. It was an added bonus that no one was chasing him this time… yet.

As it was, the admittedly small clearing he'd just landed in had virtually trapped him there. He couldn't take off without possibly injuring himself on the treetops and the forest was too thick for him to navigate on foot. He'd misjudged his own size, he realized. If only he was smaller, he thought…

Was that when he'd somehow become human?

He needed to see himself. _Aquamenti, _he thought almost instinctively, and a stream of water fell from his wand hand to form a sizable puddle. Reflected in it was the face of Harry Potter on the day he died. He remembered that day well, of course. They were celebrating his 30th birthday when he'd received a patronus from the auror headquarters. A serial killer had been discovered, and his team needed its captain. They chased the man up and down the streets of Diagon Alley, he remembered. Then, just when victory was in sight, the deranged wizard whirled around.

"Avada kedavra!" the man had screamed desperately, and an all-too-familiar bolt of green shot toward Harry even as he disarmed the perpetrator. He had enough time to dodge it, he supposed, but he couldn't. A young girl had appeared out of one of the shops, and was standing directly behind him. He'd had to stand in place and watch the green ripple against his chest. Thus, on its master's birthday, Death had claimed its Master as its own.

Harry-Shruikan peered into the puddle again, more carefully this time. He had Harry's body, except with Shruikan's blue eyes in place of Harry's green ones. He also noticed that all his scars were gone. It seemed he was finally free from their burdens.

He was wearing a standard black cloak, like the ones he used to wear to work, over black shirt and trousers. His shoes were made of an unknown material that reminded him of hard leather. Somehow there was a sword on his belt. It was narrow and silver like Griffindor's sword, but instead of large glistening rubies it had a single cracked black stone on its hilt. He would've easily mistaken it for obsidian, if he hadn't already seen it in his past.

He'd wondered about the fate of the Deathly Hallows before, as he floated in the realm of the spirits. The elder wand would've lost its power, he knew, since the duellers had simultaneously defeated each other. The cloak would've been passed down to his son James. Now, either to spite him or to help him, or perhaps because he was a spirit himself, the resurrection stone had followed him here.

He was remarking on how his cloak somewhat resembled his wings when curiosity overtook him. If he could shift form one way, surely he could shift back? He concentrated hard on Shruikan's form as he vanished the water and, a second later, roared in pain as his massive right wing slammed against a tree truck. Trust his dismal luck to follow him here as well.

He transformed back and forth until he felt fully in control. _Step 3: know my strengths and limitations._

As Shruikan he had the advantage in size, brute force, and battle experience. In his past he'd been dimly aware from Galbatorix's thoughts that "one egg had been stolen", and he'd shielded his hope that it was safe. Now, with more room to think, he suspected that more eggs were held in Uru'baen. He shuddered to think of them being twisted by magic as he had been, and then having to fight them for sanity's sake.

As Harry he would be hopeless in physical combat, though he might be quick-footed enough to evade his opponents. He knew an adequate amount of words in the Ancient Language, all of which were too powerful for a beginner like him to practice. Fortunately, it seemed that he'd retained his ability to perform wandless spells, meaning that he had at least ten spells at his service. As an experiment he pointed at the tree that scraped his wing earlier and muttered "Stupefy!", but no jet of red light flew from his fingers. O-kay, only ten spells then.

Which made him very grateful for his new sword. Learning how to use it, however, was another story. The common people in Alagaesia could hardly defend themselves, let alone teach another. The only way for him to receive training was by joining the army, and he would never allow himself to fall under the king's control again.

"So I can cast ten spells, fly and breathe fire," he muttered, "that's a decent start." He levitated himself a safe distance over the treetops and transformed midair to resume his flight. After sorting through his assets, he decided that he was safer as a dragon.

_Step 4: know my purpose._

What was his purpose in this world? Vengeance against Oath Breaker? Restoring justice? Simply living his life in peace?

What was his Name?

The sky was beginning to darken. He looked forward to the nights, as he seemed to be made for them. At night there was no need to stay in the shadows of clouds, or hop between hills. His scales would blend perfectly with the sky, concealing his presence. Then, as his movements were silent, he could soar as close to the ground as he liked and remain unnoticed. His eyesight was sharp enough that even in darkness he could see as well as day.

In fact he was scanning the horizon with his remarkable eyesight when he caught sight of a shimmer that turned into something blue. _What the hell…_


	4. Chapter 4

THAT was a dragon. Definitely a dragon.

Harry-Shruikan was starting to think he shouldn't be surprised to be surprised every so often in this life.

The dragon was small and sapphire coloured, so he could safely presume that the stolen egg had hatched. The dragon – for he wouldn't know its gender until he could reach its mind – wouldn't be under the empire's control, since Galbatorix would never let a hatchling out until it was at least as big as Shruikan himself. The dragon was wearing a saddle, meaning that a new Rider had been created.

From the looks of it, the Rider knew enough to hide in the Spine, the only part of the country Galbatorix hadn't conquered. Shruikan wondered where the Rider learned to make a standard saddle though. Perhaps he was under the tutelage of another? Perhaps some of the Riders of the Old Order had survived after the death of their dragons.

If that was the case, then Shruikan should be able to trust them not to sell him out. They might even be willing to train him. If not, then Shruikan needed to keep the young Rider away from the empire. He needed to contact them either way.

He would act now if he was to find his potential allies. It would be impossible to search for them after daybreak without being seen, and when night falls again they would likely be gone. Gliding over the trees, he carefully searched for clearings large enough for a dragon to land. He found the one he was looking for after an hour or so. Circling it, he could see an old man and a youth. They sat on their bedrolls and appeared to be bickering over something. Beside them, the sapphire hatchling looked on with amusement.

Shruikan gently reached out to the three minds. _Peace, friends._ _Do not be alarmed. I simply wish to speak to you. _

He clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from laughing as they whipped their heads left and right frantically. Eventually he felt a thought float toward to him gingerly: _Where are you?_

_Look up. _

Three shocked faces snapped up to meet the black dragon hovering overhead.

"You!" the old man paled. Shruikan recognized him as one of the young Riders on the front lines of the fateful battle. He'd watched Morzan slay the man's own dragon, who he remembered was also sapphire-coloured.

_I am no longer under his control, _Shruikan sent.

"How – ?"

_I will need you to swear in the Ancient Language that you are not allied with Galbatorix, the Empire, or any of their allies. _Better to be safe than sorry.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, which Shruikan guessed was a quick whispered conference. Eventually the mentor stood up and promised that all three of them had not, and would never, turn to the empire. They looked at Shruikan expectantly, although their expressions were still guarded.

In response, Shruikan simply pulled back a part of his mental shield to expose all of his memories from his hatching to present. He had already decided to trust them. He might as well go the whole log now rather than come across as vague and suspicious. Still, he concealed his other past and obscured the actual words of his spells. He didn't trust anyone enough with that power just yet.

It proved to be a wise choice, he noted, since the three figures below were shocked enough as it was.

"S-so you can…" the young Rider stuttered.

_Apparently yes. Like so, _Shruikan transformed into Harry and quickly cast a weightless charm over himself. He floated down into the clearing and landed surprisingly gracefully. "Right then," he surveyed the three, forcing a smile to break the tension, "I'm pleased to meet you at last. My name is Harry, and you are?" He was sure he'd remembered the old man's name, but it was evading him at the moment.

"These two are Eragon and Saphira, and I am –"

"Brom?"

Currently Brom was wearing a curious expression. "You … remember me?"

It turned out that he'd first met Brom as a very young hatchling, before he'd been stolen. His original Rider hadn't had time to make many friends yet, he remembered. Brom had kindly offered some suggestions for names. But as he didn't wish to bring up memories of the evening that started the Old Order's downfall, Harry simply answered, "Yes."

"You said you're pleased to meet us at last," Eragon said, "were you looking for us?"

"Not before today, but I've always wondered what happened to Saphira's egg. You've seen my reasoning for coming here, of course." Harry contemplated him carefully. He looked around fifteen, lightly tanned and relatively muscular. Perhaps he'd been in hiding for quite some time, or perhaps he simply grew up doing outdoor labor. He was covered in bruises, Harry noted. Possibly some fighting experience? "But what are your plans? Do you have any destination in mind?"

He tilted his head apprehensively at the silence that met his question. "I've entrusted you with a good chunk of my memories. Surely I'm no longer so unworthy of your trust?" Since when had he been so sarcastic? He'd never realized.

"Oh no," Eragon said quickly, "It's just that… I'm not very sure either. We _were_ trying to track down the Ra'zacs to avenge my dead uncle, but now we've lost them. Their tracks disappeared."

"Vengence, eh?" Harry chuckled drily, "At least you're ready for yours, unlike me. So, shall I presume that you've accepted me as company, and that we're going to wait here for future development?"

"By the looks of it, yes," Brom had lit a fire, "let's talk over dinner, shall we?"

The tension caused by his appearance had mostly dissipated. Eragon told him how they'd noticed the mark he'd made in the clearing, and then complained about a very sharp smack on his arm he'd received in one of their spars. Brom had gruffly replied that it was a necessary part of his training, and then snapped at Harry to stop smiling because he'd soon be receiving the same treatment. It was good to be with others again, he decided. During his horcrux mission, Ron and Hermoine's presence had helped him immensely. He didn't want to know what could've happened if he had been alone, with no one to talk to.

They warmed some bread over the fire, and Harry gladly accepted a piece. He wondered what would happen if he refrained from eating meat for a week. Would he feel any difference?

"We've been backtracking to look for the Ra'zac tracks," Eragon told him, pointing at a spot on Harry's right, "we think this is where we last saw them."

"I think they have these bird-beasts that fly them to places. That would explain the missing footprints," He could vaguely remember flying alongside them, but he hadn't paid them too much attention. "I don't remember much of them, to be honest. Galbatorix sometimes yelled at them for wasting seithr oil."

Brom nodded. "Oil from a seithr plant, converted by magic into a torture instrument. It's rather rare and expensive. I can see why he would be displeased."

Eragon's eyes brightened. "Say, do cities along the cost keep shipping records? If we could get to those records, they could tell us who brought the oil south and where it went from there. We'll be able to track the Ra'zacs home!"

"Genius!" Exclaimed Brom, "I wish I'd thought of this years ago; it would've saved me many headaches. I suppose we could start at Teirm. My old friend Jeod might be able to help us. But we must be more careful now. If the Ra'zac have reached the king by now, you can be sure he's learned your name."

Harry winced. "I doubt he'll be interested in keeping you alive anymore," he told them sadly, "now that I'm gone. He would need Saphira for himself."

Eragon panicked. "But that means… Roran would be in danger!" He feared for others but not himself, Harry thought. If he had his wand with him, Harry would've suggested placing a fidelus charm on Ronan's household.

"He would be in more danger than he was, yes," Brom agreed, "but there's nothing we can do to help him now. Running to his aid would do more harm than good."

The heavy mood had returned, and they quickly lost their appetite. Harry, who had no bedroll, took off his cloak laid it over the cleanest part of the clearing he could find. He stared at the stars, analyzing their current predicament as the others tried and failed to fall asleep. They had some major weaknesses and pressure points, but their outlook was still relatively fair. Galbatorix knew that Eragon existed, but at least they were still hidden. In his experiences, the element of surprise can work wonders.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry had somehow managed to wake at the crack of dawn. Strange, he thought, since neither of his pasts had been an early riser. He was about to go back to sleep when he saw in the corner of his eye that Brom was already up. The former Rider had his head bowed in contemplation, and gave no acknowledgement when Harry approached him.

"You didn't need to see them," Harry said quietly, "those memories of the war."

"I suppose not, but how could I resist seeing her again?" Brom smiled wryly. He sneaked a quick glance at the blue dragon sleeping peacefully nearby, "She reminds me much of my Saphira."

"Have you told Eragon?"

"I've told him about Riders, the Ancient Language and magic, but not about my dragon. I think he still suspects I'm more than I say I am. I've been secretive for far too long I'm afraid."

"You were not like this before. How war changes us all…" They stood in silence, watching the light slowly creep across the sky until there was no more darkness left. "You were the one who hid Saphira's egg, were you not?"

Brom nodded. "The Varden's thief ran off with it on his own. There was a long chase across the country for it, as you remember. I was able to secure it and hide it in the forest near Palacar Valley – that's where Eragon lived before all this – and then I settled down in the village in order to guard it better."

"How many more eggs are in Uru'baen?"

"Just two. The thief was supposed to extract all three, but somehow he was able to bring one out." Harry hoped that the embryos knew their current situation. If there was ever a bad time to hatch, it was now. With effort he erased the mental image of a new hatchling growing up as he did, but no doubt with double the pain.

He felt a slight pressure on his mind, and carefully opened up a small part of his mind to receive the other presence. _Would you like to fly? _It seemed that Saphira had woken too. A gust of wind behind him indicated her take off.

_Certainly. _He'd like to know how good she was. He also thought she sounded rather sulky, and he'd like to know why. "Saphira and I will return when Eragon wakes," he told Brom, and levitated himself out of the clearing.

She was already circling the clearing when he rose above the treetops. _Well you took your time!_

_You have no patience, do you? Wait –_

She'd rolled her eyes at him and shot off. "And now you're being deliberately annoying," he muttered, quickly transforming to follow her. She was fast and even more acrobatic than he expected. Given a few years of practice, she would easily best most of the dragons of the Old Order. He told her this as he did a barrel roll up to meet her.

_I know that, _she stuck her nose into the sky proudly, _I'm magnificent. _

Interesting. Was vanity a common part of childhood?

_I'll race you! _Saphira announced before bolting off again.

_Where to? _No reply. She was clearly going to conceal their destination from him until the last minute and "win" that way.

No matter. He would anticipate her flight path. With amusement he felt her grow increasingly frustrated at each twist and turn, as he would always cut a sharper one and catch up to her. He was mildly surprised at his own success. Perhaps all those years of Quidditch had carried over, or perhaps he'd managed to learn something during the war.

Eventually Saphira gave up. _To the clearing! _They dived toward the ring of trees, neck to neck, but Saphira was closer. She spread her wings victoriously, effectively sealing off the clearing from him. To counter this, he transformed and cannonballed past her, slowing his fall with a charm at the last second.

He landed with a roll split seconds before she did.

Then he looked up at her furious face and realized, too late, that winning was a mistake. Oh dear…

* * *

Eragon woke to the sound of rustling leaves and the sight of two dragons pelting straight at him. He saw the larger dragon's outline blur into a cloud of black mist, then contracted into the shape of a man. Saphira was growling at said figure as she landed.

What just happened? He tried to ask Saphira, but all he could hear through their connection was _'Rematch! Rematch!'. _

"Fine! You win!" the unfortunate object of her anger held up his hands placatingly, "you reached the clearing first." Still not entirely satisfied, Saphira walked off to her corner. Eragon smirked. It was good that someone could give her a run for her money.

"She doesn't like losing much," he explained sheepishly out of earshot of the little dragon, "she's very proud."

"She's an impressive flyer for her age…" the black-clad man started to say, then suddenly snapped his fingers in realization. "I see now. She was hoping for a little brother, was she not? And now she's disappointed because I appeared instead."

"Well, more like a baby sister, but you're mostly right…" Eragon had wondered why Saphira was being uncharacteristically quiet last evening. _Really, Saphira? _He thought to her, amused. She huffed at him and resolutely decided to ignore him for the time being.

Over breakfast, Eragon learned much about their new friend. He'd asked Eragon and Brom to call his dragon form Shruikan and his human form Harry, in an attempt to stop others from making the connection. It turned out that he identified with both names equally poorly, since they were both merely what others had decided to call him. He would be far more attached to his true Name, even though he had no idea what it was.

In physique, the contrast between his two bodies was striking. As Shruikan he was formidable and towered over everyone, while as Harry he was petit and scrawnier than Eragon. There was, however, always a certain air about him. One that spoke of great battles won and lost.

"Who was Harry Potter?" Eragon had asked, "Do you remember anything from his life?"

"He was one of the wizards," Harry – for he was currently human – took a second to phrase this, "whose job was to maintain justice." He then went on to turn a log invisible with a simple wave of his hand as demonstration. "Isn't there a word for it? What do we call those who protect and guard the people?"

"The army?" Eragon suggested.

"The Riders," said Brom.

"Well then," Harry muttered, "that was hardly helpful,"

Their trip to Teirm was speedy and enjoyable, as they went by air. Eragon was more than glad to fly with Saphira again. Brom was carried by the newly transformed Shruikan, but he didn't seem to mind the scales too much. Eragon wondered how that was possible, especially at the speed they were maintaining. The horses were certainly more vocal about their discomfort. Disillusioned and levitated to float behind the dragons, they were making comical neighing noises as Eragon pulled them along by an equally invisible rein.

They had no trouble finding their way in the sky. By late evening, they'd nearly reached the foothills on the other side of the Spine. They quickly set up camp and ate. When they finished, Brom promptly tossed a long straight stick at Harry and yelled, "Defend yourself!"

Harry was true to his words when he told them he was useless with a sword. Even with the night to his advantage, he received countless bruises in his side. Brom had him practice with exaggerated motion just like Eragon used to, and then continued to batter him senseless.

Eragon was doubling over with laughter by the time they finally decided to call it a day. "Is this revenge, Brom?"

"It's a necessary part of his training." Brom said in his gruff voice, but winked slyly at Harry where he'd last fallen.

Harry groaned, not even bothering to get up. Merlin knows how he was supposed to fly tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Harry was woken by a heavy buzzing against his mind. He groggily let the presence through. _Finally awake? I thought you died or something. _That felt like Brom.

_Very funny._ He heaved himself off the ground with great difficulty and stretched in a futile attempt to restore movement to his limbs. _Despite your obvious effort, I will live. Perhaps I won't be dropping you over a mountain today after all. _

Catching Brom's eyes, he grinned widely. He was glad to see that the witty, energetic young man from all those years back hadn't disappeared completely. Neither had the child in himself, it seemed.

"At this speed," Brom estimated, scooping some mush that was breakfast into a bowl, "we should be able to reach Teirm before the gates close for the night. We shouldn't use our real names. We won't be able to deceive Jeod, of course. He already knows my name, and I think I trust him with yours. But to everyone else we ought to be careful. I'll be Neal, Eragon can be Evan, and Harry will be…?"

"Vernon," he supplied, falling back on his all-time favourite alias.

"Fine. Eragon will be my nephew. We must ride into the city, as it would be suspicious if we arrive on foot, meaning that you, Harry, will have to find another way in."

"Whatever you say, old man," Harry shrugged and staggered toward them stiffly. He was interrupted by Saphira, who gave a long, coughing growl. _What are you laughing at? _He snapped irritably.

_S_he snorted. _The way you walk, 'old man' sounds more like you than him. _

He glared at her, and pointedly ignored her when it became clear that she wasn't going to stop. If only he could make healing potions… He made a mental note to ask Brom where he would be likely to find the necessary ingredients.

Soon they were off again. He found it very annoying to maintain speed while trying to keep himself steady, as his wings still ached when he moved. He noticed that Saphira had slowed down a little as well. She wasn't flying loops like she did the previous day, and to his amazement, didn't mock him for being slow either.

_Are you tired? _He asked.

_A little. I'm more hungry than tired, actually. I haven't hunted for two days._

_True, _he agreed, _long trips usually do that to you. _He was feeling fine himself, and he took it to be a sign that his experiment was working. It was convenient to know that he could be sustained on regular human food.

_You know what? I think those two noisy deer-like animals would do nicely. _

_They're called horses, and apparently they were quite expensive. I think somebody would not appreciate to see a large sum of his money wasted thus._

Saphira pulled a face at this, prompting him to laugh so hard that his wings quivered.

He turned his mind toward Brom. _Who is Jeod? You never told us._

_He was the scholar who found the passageway into Uru'baen. With his assistance, the Vardens and I were able to arrange for a thief to steal the last three eggs. When Saphira's egg was lost we fought together against Morzan, the Ra'zacs, the king and, well, yourself. I never had an opportunity to see him after that. He most likely believes me dead at the moment. _

Here Brom paused, then continued urgently, _Eragon must not know about my connection to the Vardens yet. If he finds out he will want to join them, and get caught up in troubles he cannot yet handle like I have done. There is always a great price to pay for the foolishness of youth, I find. _

_I understand. You can choose the time to reveal your secrets._

_Thank you, Shruikan. And how much do you trust Jeod?_

_I do not trust others with my life easily. I suppose Harry the wizard will have to do. _

By late afternoon, they sighted Teirm. A heavy fog hung close to the ground, providing an inconspicuous landing. Upon transforming, Harry removed the disillusioning charm on the horses and casted one over himself instead. He followed Eragon and Brom as they approached the guards.

One of them blocked the gate with his pike carelessly. "Wha's yer name?"

"I'm called Neal," said Brom in a wheezy voice, schooling his face into an expression of happy idiocy, "and this'ed be m'nephew Evan. He's my sister's boy, not a …"

The guard nodded impatiently. "And yer business here?"

"He's visitin' an old friend," said Eragon in a thick accent.

"I'm along t'make sure he don't get lost, if y' get what I mean. He had a bit too much sun when he was young'r. Touch o' the brain fever, y'know." Brom bobbed his head pleasantly. Harry silently cackled.

"Right. Go on through," said the guard, not noticing the slight shimmer that slid past him.

Once they were safely out of sight of the guards, Harry released his barely contained laughter. "Touch of brain fever!" he removed the disillusioning charm and clapped, "You're brilliant!"

Brom growled and rode on.

They eventually managed to wheedle the location of Jeod's house out of a uncooperative bartender, who kept trying to milk them for more money despite the very generous "tip" they'd already given him. Harry and Eragon were furious by the time they left the tavern.

"The bar was very busy," Brom pointed out, "it's understandable that he doesn't want to waste time on us. Now, you two play nice. We don't want to make any unnecessary enemies."

"Oh we understand, uncle," Harry replied, "We simply think it was a mistake on our part to fall for such a ridiculous, shameless, disgusting – "

"Jeod's house is that way, beside the herbalist's shop." Brom wisely cut him off.

They eventually arrived at the cheery shop, which was flanked by two equally grand houses. Harry wondered if he might find any potion ingredients here. There was a woman sitting by the door, who they assumed to be Angela the shop owner. Eragon approached her and asked politely, "Could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?"

"I could." She continued writing.

"Will you tell us?"

"Yes. " They waited uncomfortably, but Angela said no more. When Eragon was about to blurt something out, she looked up. "Of course I'll tell you! All you have to do is ask. Your first question was whether or not I could tell you, and the second was if I would tell you. You've never actually put the question to me."

"Then let me ask properly," said Brom with a smile. "Which house is Jeod's, and why are you holding a frog?"

"Now we're getting somewhere! Jeod's house is on the right, and as for the frog, he's actually a toad. I'm trying to prove that there are only frogs."

"How can toads not exist if you have one on your hand?" interrupted Eragon.

The woman shook her head vigorously. "You don't understand. If I prove toads don't exist, then this is a frog and never was a toad."

"So this frog-toad is a test to see whether you've accomplished your goal or not?" Harry asked.

"Something like that, yes. If I can prove there are only frogs, then toads won't be able to do anything bad – like make teeth fall out, cause warts, and poison or kill people."

"But you might've simply proven that frogs can do those things as well."

"I see," said Brom delicately, as Angela looked ready to carry on a full debate, "It sounds interesting, and we would like to hear more, but we have to meet Jeod."

"She's interesting," Harry said once they were out of the herbalist's hearing.

"Of course," Eragon teased, "but unfortunately we had to rescue you before she infected you with her craziness." They stopped before a door with a wrought-iron knocker and marble doors. The unhappy young woman who answered their knocks, Jeod's wife, closed the door abruptly after a few curt exchanges of words. Eragon was about to complain, and Brom snapped at him to keep his opinions to himself.

The door suddenly flew open, and a tall man burst out of the house. He was every bit as shocked to see Brom as they'd expected. Brom reached forward, clasping the man's arm, "I'm glad that memory hasn't failed you, but please don't use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knows I'm here. Is there somewhere we could talk?"

Jeod went inside for a minute and came out wearing a rapier and an embroidered jacket. He showed them around the streets of Teirm, pointing out shops along the way. "You, old man, have some explaining to do."

Brom's face crinkled with a smile. "Who are you calling an old man? The last time I saw you there was no gray in your hair. Now it looks like it's in the final stage of decomposition."

"And you look the same as you did nearly twenty years ago. Time seems to have preserved you as a crotchety old man just to inflict wisdom upon each new generation." They reached the imposing citadel. "My office is in there," said Jeod, "Risthart, the Lord of Teirm, has decreed that all business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Although most of us conduct business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. Come to think of it, I might've left a book in there. I'll be back in a moment."

"I'll go with you," offered Brom, "watch the horses, you two."

Eragon and Harry leaned against the citadel wall and sullenly watched them disappear into the castle. They both knew that the book was simply an excuse to discuss something in private. Harry had nothing to fear, since he knew that Brom would be able to keep his secret. That thought was enough to pacify him for the time being. Eragon, on the other hand, was sorely disappointed that Brom was hiding things from him. "It's not fair," he muttered, "If only I could hear what they're saying…" Suddenly, he jolt upright.

"I can't presume to tell you what not to do," Harry sighed, "but understand that people don't part with secrets easily." He sympathised with the boy, to a certain extent. Still, he had enough experience with secrets and secretive people to know that many of them are best left undisturbed.

"He knows all about me," Eragon reasoned, "It's about time I learn something about his. Thverr stenr un atra eka horna!" Leaning back, Harry guessed at the nature of Brom's conversation by observing the dramatic changes in Eragon's expression.

* * *

Meanwhile, inside the citadel, Jeod hanged a torch in its wall-mounted hoister. "Eragon, named after the first Rider. Very fitting, for the one who will rebuild new order."

Brom nodded. "There is immense weight on his shoulder. I hope for all of our sakes that he will not collapse under it."

"And so you're preparing him for what is to come. Who's your other companion, the one decked in black? Will you return to Tronjheim with them?"

"Harry is a wizard we met on our journeys. He's lost all he had at the hands of the Empire, and was hiding in the Spine when we found him. I think he will prove to be invaluable to our cause. And as for Tronjheim, not yet. The Vardens and their politics will carve him up. Everyone will be trying to influence him. It's the worst place he could be right now. Though I must say, I'm surprised you took up trading. It was very clever and brave of you, to deliver supplies to Surda like that."

"I do what I could," Jeod shrugged, "None of my shipment have been getting through lately. Somehow the Empire – at least I think it's them – has discovered those of us who have been helping to support Tronjheim. I know what you're thinking. A traitor with that much knowledge and power – if such a person exists, then we're all in jeopardy." He reached for the torch again. "We should join Eragon and Harry outside. There is, in fact, a book I would like to show the young Rider, but it's in my home. I'm sure he would find it interesting."

The four headed into the alleys again once they regrouped. If Eragon had managed to hear anything substantial at all, he did not mention it. Jeod eventually lead them to a large tavern, where they were treated to a delicious and filling meal. Brom and Jeod eagerly exchanged stories, while the two younger men listened attentively. Eragon and Harry felt a twinge of guilt toward Saphira, especially as they were now aware that hunting was difficult near the city. Dragons could go on for months without food, of course, but nobody appreciated hunger and loneliness.

"You go ahead, I have to check something." Eragon went off to visit Saphira once they exited the tavern. Harry decided not to follow, figuring that they'd want privacy to discuss what Eragon had overheard. It would also be good to spend more time with their host. Jeod, from what he'd seen and heard of him, was a wise man, with an impressive amount of knowledge about current events as well as the ancient days. There was much to be learned from the scholar turned merchant. He wondered why Jeod would take interest in a passageway into Uru'baen in the first place. Perhaps like Brom, Angela, and a good many others, Jeod was much more than he let on to be.

A plumb butler ushered them into Jeod's polished, elaborately carpeted house. Jeod showed them into his study, a small homely room with a blazing fire. With permission, Harry busied himself with the variety of books around the room, skimming through the thick tomes about elves and dwarves and the land itself.

"Do you enjoy reading?" Jeod asked from the oval writing desk.

"Not as much as you do." He was more for action than books. "What's this one? The Dominance of Fate."

"Ah yes," Jeod smiled with reminiscence, "A man came through here a year ago trying to sell it to a trader down at the wharves. Fortunately, I happened to be there and was able to save the book, along with his neck. This is the one I've been meaning to show your young friend. It details a complete history of Alagaesia, starting long before the elves' arrival and ending a few decades ago."

"It's very rare and the best of its kind," Brom added, "When it was written, the Empire decried it as blasphemy and burned the author. I didn't think any copies still existed!"

He nodded. "Knowledge is power, after all. The king would not appreciate those who ladle out power to the commoners."

Jeod regarded him thoughtfully. "An accurate analogy, Harry. It's unfortunately that so few in the country realize it." Here Jeod paused. "Your name is rather unusual."

"Really? They always said my father was an eccentric one."

"To my best knowledge, you're the first of your name. Not that it matters, of course. All names are simply a label except for one."

And that's the one I need to find, he thought.

They were shown to their respective rooms when Eragon returned. Harry was glad that he no longer had to sleep on the forest floor in his cloak, which he washed at first opportunity. Silently wondering what tomorrow had in store for them, he drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry woke comfortably the next morning. His weariness from the previous day was gone, and his muscles no longer ached. Heartened by this, he leaped out of bed and donned his freshly cleaned cloak and sword. He ventured outside and found an excited-looking Eragon in the halls. "Brom and Jeod went out already. We can visit the markets today!"

They checked out nearly all the shops in Teirm although they had little money to spend. Eragon bought some new travelling clothes. He'd offered to share his budget with Harry, but Harry saw nothing he couldn't do without. By mid-afternoon, they'd made their way back to Angela's shop.

Harry had been meaning to visit the herbalist sometime. He was hoping that she'd have ingredients for brewing healing draughts, among other things. A well-stocked kit of potions would somewhat make up for the limitations of his magic. The polyjuice potion would be unnecessary for him now, since no one would recognize him, but it might be helpful for Eragon and Brom. The disgusting Skele-grow would be helpful in the aftermath of inevitable Urgal encounters, especially as none of them was currently capable of healing with magic.

He also wanted to learn more about Angela as a person. He could sense that she was powerful and strong of mind beneath her mild craziness. She would be invaluable as an ally.

Chains of bells rattled wildly as they opened the door, waking a shaggy cat that slept near the counter. He felt Eragon reach out to reassure it with his mind.

_You don't have to do that. _He froze mid-breath, while Eragon visibly jumped. He eyed the "cat" intensely as he approached it. It stared back with a hint of amusement and curiosity. _You're not just a cat, are you?_ He asked, projecting this conversation to Eragon as well.

_Nope, _it replied. W_erecats are relics of the old. The same goes for the two of you, am I correct?_

_How did you know – _exclaimed Eragon mentally, nearly dropping the rod he was holding.

The werecat merely arched his back and stalked onto the counter. _Before one of you asks, as I know you would, I go by many names. If you wish to know my proper one you will have to seek elsewhere. However, you may call me Solembum. _

"It's very rare that he speaks to customers," Angela had appeared out of the back of the shop, "It's a great compliment coming from him. In fact, he says you show some promise, given a few years of work. I wonder… would you like me to read your fortunes?"

They looked at each other. "Alright," said Eragon, "but my fortune is pretty much unreadable I'm afraid."

"I'll pass," said Harry, "one only wants to be told of doom and gloom so many times."

Angela hummed thoughtfully. "That's only for show," she pointed at a crystal ball, "but I do have… Wait here. I'll be right back." She returned with a leather pouch. "I haven't used these for so long," she told them as she laid a cloth on the counter and poured a handful of smooth bones onto it. "These are knucklebones of a dragon. Don't ask me where I got them; it's a secret I won't reveal."

She was there during the war, Harry realized, yet her appearance betrayed no sign of her age.

"Unlike tea leafs, crystal balls, or even divination cards," she continued, "these have true power. Though understanding what they say can be difficult. I will cast them for you if you wish, but understand that to know one's fate can be a terrible thing."

Eragon gulped, but nodded firmly. "Cast the bones for me,"

Angela gravely spoke the words of power and threw the bones onto the cloth. She examined them for a minute and pursed her lips. "This is the hardest reading I've ever done in my life! Here," she pointed to one of the bones, "we have the symbol for infinity and long life."

Naturally, since Eragon was a Rider. But then again, Riders can still be killed. Does this mean that Eragon and Saphira will succeed in their quest, or will they simply give up?

"Here the wandering path, the lightning bolt, and sailing ship all lie together – a pattern I've never seen, only heard of. The wandering path is for the many choices in your future. The lightning bolt is for conflict and bloodshed. The sailing ship is for your departure from this land. But you are one of the very few who are truly free to choose their own fate. That freedom is a gift, but also a responsibility more binding than chains."

Angela gave Eragon time to process this, then drew a deep breath, "The next bone is easier and far more pleasant. An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary and strong enough to outlast empires. Your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare."

"Well aren't you a lucky one," Harry teased and nudged Eragon in the ribs. That sounded like an elf, and he was not surprised that one of them would wed a Rider.

Eragon smiled nervously. "But leaving the land… I'm not sure if I'm up to that."

"What I wouldn't give to see the rest of your life play out," Angela's eyes flashed, "you can speak to werecats, know of the ancient language, and have a most interesting future. You're truly something special."

"So are you," Harry fixed his eyes on hers, "you're a witch, among many other things."

"And you're a wizard, among many other things." She smiled, "Have you come to resume our discussion about frogs and toads?"

Harry could swear he saw a tiny bead of sweat roll down the side of Eragon's head as this was mentioned. "Not exactly. I'm here mostly to look for ingredients for healing potions. I don't have much money, mind."

"Oh but I can give you a good supply of healing draughts and some ingredients if you want to make your own, free of charge, if you let me read your fortune as well."

"Oh? Am I really worth all that?" Harry raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and took Eragon's place on the stool across from her. "If you say so,"

She cast the bones again and thought for a long time. Eventually, Angela began breathlessly. "So many contradictions," she whispered, "Here we have the sign for infinity and long life again, as if you should be immortal. Yet it is intercepted this bone here, one that says your life would be abnormally short."

"Well, well," He tilted his head, "I wonder how that'll happen. I'm not easily killed, after all."

Angela smiled in confirmation. "It is most curious. This bone here, the lightning bolt, indicates battle; but you will not fall at another's hand. It seems that whatever happens will happen by your choice, so it should be relatively easy to avoid."

Suicide, then? He wondered if the brother whose remains were currently judging his future was toying with him on purpose.

"The rest of the bones are more confusing. You will leave the land indefinitely, yet you will return home. You will be lonely, yet you will have close friends. You will always be free to choose, yet the path you will take is obvious. There is only one thing I can be sure of."

"And that is?"

"You will succeed," She said simply.

"Can you tell what I'm going to succeed at?" He asked hopefully.

Angela shook her head. "No, unfortunately. That is something you'll have to find out yourself."

Keeping her word, Angela gave him a case of healing draught as promised. She also helped him brew his own in her cauldron while happily exchanging recipes and asking about the different properties of his version. "I should learn this," she nodded, "it'll be helpful. Really, I'm lucky to have met you two. Who are you, anyways?"

"I am Eragon." The boy went with the truth.

"And I ..." He was about to say "Harry", but decided that Angela deserved more. "I used to be the Child of Change, but please call me Harry."

Her eyes widened. "The Child of Change… Those in my profession know you well, though I'm afraid not everything we've said about you is favourable. Is it really okay though, to tell me so much?"

"I trust that you're wise enough to keep this information to yourself."

By the time he and Eragon bade Angela goodbye, both of them had plenty to think about. As there was still plenty of time before dusk, they set off towards the outer walls. He would go with Eragon to visit Saphira this time. It was only fair that he kept her company as often as he could afford, as he knew she would not enjoy being left outside alone. Besides, he couldn't leave the city any other way without raising either Jeod's or the guards' suspicion.

Suddenly, a loud horn sounded. "What –" he started to say, but stopped abruptly. A pack of Urgals, like an ominous black river, flooded the streets. They looted and destroyed, plunging their knives into frantic victims as they went, and advanced on the pair with disgusting expressions. Anger welled up in him then. He wanted to destroy – no, obliterate these sneering fools. It would be so easy, after all. He would simply transform midair then burn the lot to a crisp, and it would be done –

No, he decided. Not only would he expose himself and jeopardize his future safety, innocent bystanders would be injured in the process. Firmly suppressing his previous urge, he prepared to fend off the Urgals long enough to escape. He could not escape onto a roof, since unfortunately they were all captured by Urgals. Eragon had been swept away by the fight sometime ago. Quickly glancing around, he realized that he was surrounded.

_Expelliamus. _The dagger poised to plunge into his chest flew off to the side of the road and disappeared. His opponents stalled briefly in surprise, and he quickly used this opportunity to vanish any weapons in sight. The now weaponless Urgals growled dangerously and arched their necks, intending to skewer him with their horns.

He suddenly had an inspiration. _Wingardium leviosa, _he concentrated on any Urgals within three meters away. Once they were lifted a good height into the air, he dropped them hard onto their comrades' heads. He heard with gratification the crunch of horns piercing skulls, and used the temporary distraction to bolt.

He'd hoped that they'd left him alone, but they gave chase. Sprinting through the winding and branching alleyways, he searched futilely for a roof that had yet to be captured. Eventually he realized with a sinking feeling that he had reached a dead end. He backed up against the cold stone wall as they slowly approached, brandishing their knives at him menacingly.

Again, he vanished as many daggers as he could, but there were simply too many of them. His earlier trick would not work either, as he would need to clear the entire alley before he could escape. Grimacing, he drew his sword and struck at the Urgal nearest to him. He found some solace in the fact that most of the Urgals were as inept at swordplay as he was. Still, they had strength in numbers, and he did not.

What did Brom tell him to do again? He screwed his face in concentration as he attempted to remember Brom's harsh instructions from two days ago, but none came. Desperate, he simply slashed at the approaching Urgals as if casting _setcumsempra. _

He nearly stumbled in surprise as six of them fall, each with a long horizontal gash across their front. "Impossible…" he breathed. There was no way he could've wielded a sword with so much force. Unless… _Setcumsempra, _he slashed his sword at four more Urgals, making sure that he did not actually touch them. A similar gash etched itself into their stomachs, and they fell on their backs. The Urgal soldiers behind them were surprised that their fleeing victim suddenly became more dangerous, he noticed, but they thought little of it. The gash looked exactly like a regular sword wound, except he knew it was not.

It was magic.

He drew himself up to full height and fixed his eyes on theirs. "Back off," he warned. Unconvinced, they raised their daggers at him. He grimly raised his sword in response. _Well then…_ _Bombarda. _Thirty or so Urgals were blown to smithereens, clearing half of the alleyway. Slowly but steadily, he walked toward his assailants and the mouth of the alleyway. The Urgals on the roof, now beginning to see him as a threat, began to fire, but he quickly relieved them of their bows and their heads. The remaining Urgals in the street blinked at him, unsure of what to do.

He fought down the urge to simply blast away the significantly reduced group of Urgals and be done with it. "Back off," he repeated loudly. Some of them had half a mind to. Others tightened their grip on their daggers hesitantly and darted quick glances at one Urgal near the front, obviously their leader.

"Attack –" He silently slit the leader's throat before anyone could act on that order. "That," he growled as the followers quickly scattered and scrambled away, "was for knowingly sending your men to their deaths."

Without pausing, he swung his sword again at the falling body, cutting off its hands. "And that was for plundering from the innocent."

Slash. "For cowering behind your foot soldiers for safety, yet lurking close enough to share their loot."

Slash. "For ordering the chase, and the attempt on my life."

Breathing fast, he glanced around to survey the damage. The houses that lined the alley were unharmed. After he vanished the bodies and cast _scourgify _over the walls and the street, it was as if no fight had ever taken place.

"Was that really necessary?" Brom stood stiffly at the mouth of the alley. He had to search his mind to realize when the old man had appeared.

"It was necessary to kill the Urgals to free myself. It wasn't necessary to clean up the mess I've made, but I thought it was good manners."

"But to cut a dead body five times?"

He sighed, casting a second _scourgify _over himself. How would Brom react to the truthful answer? "I inconvenienced no one by harassing the dead in this manner. There was no need to deny myself the pleasure."

"Do you enjoy killing then?" Brom asked.

"You are unsurprised. One of the elves managed to touch my mind once, I remember. She must have informed you of its sorry state."

A suffocating pause ensued. "She said… that you were so angry… that your only desire is to burn and destroy every last being and plant until nothing remained," Brom eventually said hesitantly, "But you felt so different when we met you in the Spine. I thought…"

He ran his fingers through his hair. A large part of his mind still boiled with rage. He had succeeded in chilling it, but it was far from gone. "The product a lifetime of suffering is not erased so easily. Though I now have opportunities to process it, and enough self control to ensure that it doesn't influence my decisions, I cannot rid myself of it. Perhaps one day in the future it might cease to haunt me, but not yet."

Brom nodded. "I see…"

They walked away from the dark, frigid alley in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

Eragon and Jeod were waiting for them at the mansion. Eragon, who sported a bloody nose and a dozen cuts, was glad that Harry hadn't abandoned the healing draughts. "I was surrounded by about twelve of them," he informed Harry and Brom as Jeod weighed the (currently weightless) case with fascination, "I might've killed three… I'm not sure. I think their main group had already moved on by the time I got away, so I was able to come back here with no trouble. What happened to you, Harry? Jeod said Brom went to find you."

"I distracted them with magic and ran away, and then I met Brom." At least that's what was supposed to happen_,_ Harry thought.

"Isn't it strange though?" Jeod wondered, still examining the case of potions, "the Urgals only formed large groups like this twice in history. I cannot fathom what kind of power would be able to gather an Urgal army."

"I think I saw an Urgal who looks like he's in charge, but he was probably just a commander or lieutenant or something like that," Harry said. Someone who jeopardized a successful raid to chase down one unimportant escapee, simply because he could not swallow his pride, did not have what it takes to build an army.

Brom nodded. "Urgal armies, once assembled, have proven to be formidable and highly dangerous. That's something we should beware of. By the way, we really ought to find the records quickly. One of Jeod's couriers returned today, and he said he saw reward posters for Eragon along the road. We cannot tell when the news would reach Teirm. If we're lucky, we can leave before it does."

"You should also try to stay away from the guards," Jeod added, "If they see less of you they'd be less likely to remember you."

Harry exchanged glances with Eragon. _In other words we won't be seeing Saphira until we leave. _He sighed mentally. _That's disappointing. I've been looking forward to talking to her._

_Why don't you talk to her like you're talking to me now? _

_I can't reach her from here easily. Magic weakens with distance, remember?_

_But how come I can still reach her? _Eragon was confused, _I don't even notice a difference!_

_If you try to contact anyone else from this distance you'd have to strain your power like the rest of us, _Harry explained, _but the bond between you and Saphira is strong. _When he had fled Uru'baen, it wasn't until he was leagues away that the bond between him and Galbatorix began to weaken. It had partially healed now, but it was still weak. He sometimes worried it would open up again if he ever travelled too close to his former "master".

"Oh," he suddenly remembered, "How did it go with the administrator anyways?"

"Bloody awful!" Brom swore, "He even refused bribes! Substantial ones! But don't worry. We'll find a way to get us in."

"I don't think I'll be of any help," Eragon said, a tinge of red colouring his cheeks, "I can't read."

"Well that sets my plan back," Brom tugged at his beard, "but not irreparably. I'll just have to teach you how to read. It won't take long if you put your mind to it."

Harry saw Eragon wince, remembering Brom's harsh teaching style. "It's really not that bad," he told him encouragingly, "though I wish I could say the same for swordplay."

"Oh yes, about that." Brom grinned widely.

Heading outside, Harry endured another ridiculously one-sided sparring match. To make matters worse, their "training" had attracted a group of wide-eyed children, who gasped and cheered whenever Brom landed another hit. By the time they finished, Harry was positive that he was glowing beet red.

"Do try to improve so that you won't get hit this many times," Brom pleaded out of earshot of the spectators, "It makes things less painful for both of us."

"You," Harry grimaced as Brom elbowed him on a fresh bruise, "just be glad I didn't drop you in midair. I'm already trying my best." He could hardly recall a time he learned so slowly, save perhaps the occulumency lessons with Snape. The thought of those dreaded sessions eased his frustrations. He did manage to master occulumency in the end, after all. Besides, at least this time it was his body being attacked and not his mind.

Then, when the crowd had scattered and as Eragon struggled away at memorizing the letter "a", Brom taught Harry the magic of the ancient language. "Lift this pebble off your palm and hold it in the air for as long as you can," he instructed, "The words you will use are stenr reisa."

"Stenr reisa," Harry repeated, willing the pebble to rise, but nothing happened. This went on for nearly half an hour. Boredom was slowly eroding his concentration, and the unsolicited segments of memories that kept popping up in his mind were not helping either. In his head, he saw not the pebble but an equally obstinate feather. Brom's instructions had somehow faded into a refrain of "wingardium levi-O-sa, not wingardium levio-SA!"

Was he pronouncing the words wrong? "Stenr reisa," he intoned carefully. Predictably, it remained firmly on his hand.

"I think you have to locate your power first," Eragon advised helpfully, "And then you have to break through the barrier that holds it."

Harry closed his eyes and searched his mind thoroughly, smiling victoriously when he eventually discovered two large reservoirs of silvery light in the innermost part of his mind, each contained behind a thin transparent barrier. Excited, he forced open one of them. "Stenr reisa."

The pebble shot into the sky like a rocket, and in his shock, he felt the barrier snap back into place. It wasn't until seconds later that the pebble finally reappeared and landed. He picked up the pebble to try again. This time, he only poked a tiny hole in the barrier to release a trickle of power. He gradually adjusted the size of the opening until the rock no longer wobbled or shook.

"You did it!" Eragon congratulated him.

Brom looked thoughtful, but unsurprised. "Now try to make a fire. The word is –"

"Brisingr," he said, and a bright flame appeared before them. "That one I knew." He had to open up his barrier a little further this time, he noticed.

Brom nodded with approval. "I'm glad this is coming along faster than your dismal swordplay." For the rest of the evening, Harry continued to try increasingly stronger words until he truly needed to strain himself to release enough power. As far as he could tell, there were no differences between the silver streams that flowed out of the two barriers, but the reservoirs themselves felt somewhat different from each other. It fascinated him, even as he grew weary from the practice.

Beside them, Jeod watched with interest. "It's remarkable, old man," he chuckled, "how you spend almost as much time on Harry as you do on the young Rider. Have you grown to enjoy teaching during your isolation?"

Brom shrugged. "He is promising, is he not? Now if only he could do that sword of his some honour…"

A week quickly passed in Teirm. Eragon was now able to read whole pages slowly without asking Brom for help. He was more or less ready for the record room. Meanwhile, Harry's footwork was finally deemed by Brom to be "passable". This he rejoiced over, although he'd made no noticeable improvements anywhere else. Their time in Teirm was pleasant and had a rare sense of tranquility, albeit one that was frequently punctuated by grim news of horrific attacks along the coast. There were tales of people disappearing in the night, and mangled corpses being discovered in the morning. _We really should leave soon, _Harry thought.

"Now that Eragon's ready," Brom eventually declared, "I think it's time to move ahead. We'll have a nice surprise for Sir_ Administrator_, tonight."

They waited until nightfall, then started toward the citadel. They easily gained entrance without trouble and, after obliviating the guard, quickly made their way into the record room. Once there, they found the shipping records for the last five years and began to slowly read through them for mentions of Seithr oil. Brom sat facing the door, and Eragon positioned himself so that he could see the courtyard below through the window. Harry and Jeod concentrated fully on perusing the scrolls, so that they could move out sooner.

Harry thought he heard a gasp from Eragon. He quickly glanced toward the window, only to meet the gaze of a small boy with shaggy black hair and slanted eyes on the windowsill.

_Hello Solembum, _he thought cheerily to the boy as well as Eragon, whose eyes widened incredulously, _you look good today. Nice touch with the holly. _

_Same to you, Shruikan, though I have to say you don't look nearly half as impressive as you would with your other body._

_Is there a reason why you're here?_

Solembum grinned, revealing pointed teeth. _Only to tell you that you might need to read no further, since those you search for are on their way here. _


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Revisions complete! I combined the next chapter into this one because it was too short to stand alone.**

* * *

Harry froze. _You don't mean the Ra'zacs?_

_But yes. Already they are flying above Teirm. _

_How do you know we're hunting down the Ra'zacs? _Eragon asked abruptly.

The werecat gave them another mysterious smile before disappearing from sight. _Your mind is a wonderful place, young Rider. But I suggest you think about that another time. There seems to be a more pressing matter at hand for you, is there not?_

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "The Ra'zacs are here," he told Brom and Jeod urgently, "according to Angela's werecat companion."

Jeod jerked up. "What do we do now?"

"They probably suspect that Eragon is here. We'll think about why another time," Brom cursed. "Eragon, you must ensure that Saphira stays hidden. They might not know for certain until they see her."

"When they reach Teirm, they will begin by asking the guards," Harry said, trying to imagine what he would do in the Ra'zacs' place. "But the gates would've closed and the guards would've returned to their barracks."

"Which means that to look for the soldiers," Jeod finished, "they would come to the citadel."

Eragon gasped excitedly. "This is an opportunity! The Ra'zacs don't know we're here, so we can attack them before they leave again!"

Brom nodded. "We can either wait in ambush or sneak up to them, but we must use stealth." Hurriedly putting back the scrolls, he fixed Eragon and Harry with an unyielding glare. "I'll explain why later, but do not use magic to attack and DO NOT engage in a duel. Your necks depend on it. If they notice us at all we run, understand?" Harry, who had intended to use nothing but magic, nodded with more than a bit of annoyance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eragon do the same.

Jeod adjusted his rapier cautiously. "Very well. The barracks are this way,"

They let themselves out of the record room and carefully locked the door before creeping through the damp stone passages. Stealth on its own was not difficult. The disillusionment charm, reinforced by the darkness, ensured that no one could see them without already knowing where to look. Harry had also cast a weightless charm over them to reduce their footsteps, although it also reduced their speed when running. The difficulty of their mission, then, lay within the final step: killing the Ra'zacs before they realize that something was off.

"We've almost reached the soldiers' quarters," Jeod whispered. Harry could somewhat make out his wavering form. Just then, the yellow light of a lantern appeared around the corner. He froze as two ominous shadows slipped into the passage, followed by their owners. He barely braced himself in time to stop himself from shuddering at their grotesque form. Their faces and hands were hidden away entirely, as if they dared not expose an inch of their skin to view. Their back was oddly humped, as if contorted by some immense weight. They carried with them an air of decay, of the corrosion of things once whole until they become untouchable.

One of them stiffened. "What wass tthatt?" He hissed.

"Ssimply a ttrick of lightt," his companion grunted back.

And it was, Harry thought, since the spot they'd been examining was on the wall opposite to the lurking four. Ironically, this provided an unexpected opportunity. The Ra'zacs were now proceeding more slowly, and frequently turned to check on the empty corner. _Muffliato, _he cast around the room so that any noise they make would not alert the rest of the castle. Once finished, he nudged the shimmery figure beside him to take his sword. If he couldn't use magic, Eragon would have more use for the sword-wand than he did. He felt Brom and Eragon silently move into position. This was it. He held his breath in anticipation of the crucial moment. _On my count, _Brom thought to them, _Three, two, one!_

The head of one Ra'zac was cleanly sliced off by Brom's invisible blade. His companion, however, reacted to the soft swish of the swords just in time to block Eragon's attack. With a deep sense of foreboding, Harry saw the Ra'zac grapple with what appeared to be thin air. The Ra'zac was strong and had considerable power, he remembered. Eragon would not be able to win a fight this way. He tensed, preparing to use magic to extract the young Rider as a last resort. Surely the consequences would be a small price to pay compared to Eragon's life.

_Run! _Brom ordered. He grabbed Harry and Eragon by the neck of their shirts, and dragged them away from the scene. The Ra'zac had fled in the opposite direction, having decided against fighting an invisible opponent. They kept on running, and stopped only after they'd exited the citadel and were able to see the night sky once more.

The Ra'zac beat them to the courtyard, and had already taken off on his mount. He couldn't, however, take his dead companion's beast with him. The shrivelled, misshapen looking creature had broken off its leash, and was dashing around aimlessly like a headless chicken. Harry found himself staring at it with wonder. It was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen, and yet it looked almost pitiful.

Cawing in a strangled voice, it charged toward invisible Harry, black wings slightly opened. Brom, or Eragon – Harry couldn't be sure – killed it with a clean stroke before it woke the soldiers. Harry mutely vanished the carcass. Why did the creature feel so strangely familiar?

They walked in silence until they were once again inside Jeod's study, where Harry removed the spells on his friends. "Well, at least we've accomplished something. Everyone still alive and whole?"

Brom and Jeod nodded, but Eragon stared at his feet with guilt. "Your sword," he stammered, "he caught hold of it and yanked it out of my hand. I'm so sorry!"

_What? _"No…" _Accio sword!_ But he realized it was pointless even as he waited. Nothing had whizzed through the air, and the feeling of a cold handle pressing itself into his palm never came. He felt a bit dazed, and fought to keep the shock out of his expression for Eragon's sake.

"You can have one of mine if you like," Jeod offered, "I have plenty."

"Don't bother. You know how bad I am with swords. Heck, I didn't even get to name that sword yet – thought I'd wait until I'm more worthy of it," Harry smiled ruefully, "It's just that… the sword was very special to me. Without it I get the feeling that a part of me is missing."

"I understand," Jeod nodded sympathetically. "That's how I felt when my oldest ship sank."

Brom decided to change the topic, since it was beginning to make all four of them uncomfortable. "I'm curious as to how Ra'zacs knew to come here. What tipped them off, exactly? There are no wanted posters in Teirm, and we don't know of any merchants who'd recently returned. Who would've informed them? Who would've remembered us in the first place?"

As they stepped into the foyer of Jeod's mansion, Eragon suddenly remembered something. "What if it was the Urgals? The ones I injured would remember me."

Brom nodded thoughtfully. "There's a good chance, but the idea that the Urgals are sharing information with the Empire is worrying. Perhaps they had been under Galbatorix's leadership all along." Harry barely prevented himself from smacking his forehead. Why hadn't they considered this earlier? The King was one of the few in the country with enough power to keep so many Urgals loyal to him. Now that Brom had suggested it, the possibility seemed unfortunately real.

"So what happens now?" Harry asked.

"We have to leave immediately. The King will likely assume that you're responsible for the Ra'zac's death, Eragon, so we can expect him to send forces to Teirm rather quickly. Jeod, you'll need to be careful. If unfortunately someone recalls seeing you with us, your family will be in danger."

Jeod nodded. "We will seek refuge with the Vardens if that happens."

They quickly and wordlessly packed their belongings. There wasn't much for Harry to take except the case of potions, as it had been his only possession other than the clothes on his back. There was also the sword that Jeod had insisted that he take. He thought it felt somewhat awkward, hanging by his side, even though it was nearly identical in size and weight to his lost sword.

Ready, they led Cadoc and Snowfire out of the stables. They walked to the widest part of the deserted street, where Saphira soon joined them. Harry and Brom each climbed onto a horse and, after spells were cast to make them float, handed the reins to Eragon. Jeod looked on in awe. "So this is how you arrived!"

"Something similar, yes," Brom replied with a laugh, "Take care, old friend."

Saphira took off with a mighty push, taking the two horses with her. Harry hadn't bothered to make them invisible, since the night would give them enough cover. They would soon reach the foothills in any case.

Harry felt a thought from Saphira. _You look miserable. If you dislike this arrangement so much then why don't you fly?_

_Oh I don't mind the horses that much actually, _he gave her a small smile. If anything, the trip was more comfortable than he'd expected. Maybe horses didn't jerk around too much when they were airborne? _And I'm sorry about the extra load, but I can't risk attempting to fly above civilization until I learn exactly how I'm currently impaired. _

Eragon gasped with realization, having heard the whole conversation through his link with Saphira. "When you said a part of you is missing…"

"You know of the sword's origin through my memories, I expect," Harry said glumly. He immediately felt the horror and guilt from Eragon and added hastily, "of course, I don't think its loss will affect me physically. I most likely just lost some power or a capability, that's all. Once we're above the Spine I'll have room to do a full inventory check, and then it'll be business as usual."

"It better be," Brom screwed his face into a very convincing look of irritation, "I really hate flying on horseback."

They landed in a sizable clearing, where Harry could freely transform into Shruikan. Brom walked around to examine him. _It's as you said. You look exactly the same as how I remembered you._

_That is heartening, yes. I think I'll fly now._

_We can't help you from down here, _Eragon thought with worry,_ Do you need Saphira to go with you?_

_Peace, friends, I do not require rescuing yet. _Spreading his wings, he shot into the air with ease. Eragon still looked tense, so he did a good number of loops and flips to show off. That seemed to reassure the boy a little. _At least you're still as sneaky as ever, _Eragon thought, caught unaware as Shruikan suddenly dive-bombed him.

Shruikan simply sent him his amusement, and continued with his tests. So far, he hadn't noticed any change in his speed, strength or agility. He didn't know how to test power, but his black fire felt no different than usual. For the most part he was confident that his limits hadn't shifted for the worse. _Either I've lost something so insignificant that I haven't got around to testing it, or I've lost something I didn't realize I had. _There were also some things that he could only tell with time, but he was reasonably confident that he could still function normally.

He saw Saphira rose into the air as he finished a complicated series of twists and dives. _I thought I didn't need rescuing?_

_No, _she replied, _but this looks like fun. _

_If you say so, _he tilted his head absently. _That's what I'd do to remove an unwanted person from my back… Not that you should try it, of course. _It was one of the things he'd accidentally learned by himself. The King wasn't too keen on letting him practice.

He entered into another series of loops, with Saphira following. He wasn't surprised that she'd successfully kept up with most of it. _I know what you lost! _She told him triumphantly as they circled the clearing.

_Hmm? _Shruikan blinked. He didn't notice a fault. _Please enlighten me._

_Your sluggishness! I didn't realize you were acrobatic!_

_I didn't realize I was sluggish, _he hummed. He almost had half a mind to remind her who actually won that race, but quickly thought better of it. _There was a time when I couldn't fly for five minutes without doing a loop of some kind. _He looked quite different then. _I was rather like you, but of course, not nearly as good, o-magnificent one._

Of course, as he immediately realized, sarcasm was evidently wasted on her.

Light was appearing on the horizon when they finally landed, and Shruikan transformed back. "See," he said with a wide smile, "no harm done."

"It's good that you didn't lose anything important," Eragon said with relief.

He nodded, but pushed the few remaining worries he had to the back of his mind. His greatest fear, that a part of his _soul_ had been lost, was still unconfirmed, but it was ungrounded in the first place. It should require something far greater than the loss of a sword to maim a soul like Voldemort did. The memory of the shrivelled, misshapen infantile body in Kings Cross Station nagged at him, as if trying to remind him of something. He couldn't quite place what it was.

"Why couldn't we use magic?" He asked Brom, "you said you'd explain."

"There's no harm in using magic," The old man scratched his chin, trying to give him a good answer. "It's magical duels that are dangerous. You see, magic takes time to do its damage. Even as you cast a lethal spell, your opponent will have time to react and take you down with him. There is no spell of instant death."

Harry did, in fact, know a spell of instant death, but it was so easily noticed and dodged that it was no better than a plain arrow. "But then how would magicians duel? Is there no way to block spells?"

"There is, but you have to formulate your counterattack before your opponent's magic reaches you. The only time you'll get enough time to do this is by breaking into the enemy's mind and discovering their attack in advance. That's why magicians always try to gain access to each other's mind before magic enters the equation. Magical duels always start out as a swordfight until one side becomes so distracted that his mental barriers falter."

Brom paused, letting Eragon and Harry absorb the information. "In short, if you don't have a death wish, you won't duel a magical opponent unless you can best him in swordplay, mental resilience and magical proficiency. The first two requirements are your greatest weaknesses, Harry, even though your magic will make you invaluable for any army. You, Eragon, just might make it into the first minute of the duel, but you don't know enough magic to survive for much longer than that. The Ra'zacs are powerful beings, and should not be underestimated. No one knows much about them, as there are only two, but it's been said that Ra'zacs have almost enough power to match a Rider."

Harry pictured the Ra'zac with their mounts. Everything about them felt eerily familiar, though each in a different way. His mind swam with vague images of dark, cloaked forms, of shrunken, degenerate bodies, of disgustingly terrible deeds. Cold, sibilant, snakelike voices weaved among them. Closing his eyes, he could nearly see the faded silhouettes of men seated tall between pairs of powerful wings. He started to laugh. _What have done to yourselves, you who should've been friends…_

"Harry?" Brom asked, alarmed.

Harry straightened up. There was still laughter on his face, but his eyes were blank. "We all thought the Ra'zacs and their mounts were some exotic creatures, but they're not. They're actually familiar beings, bent beyond all recognition. Evil magic and blatant disregard for the value of lives and souls does that to you sometimes."

Brom's forehead creased. "I suppose whatever they and Galbatorix are doing wouldn't help their looks much if that's the case. But what are they, exactly?"

Harry chuckled again hollowly. "You said they had nearly the powers of Riders. I wouldn't be surprised. The only ones who would've maimed their souls to such an extent, beside the Shades, are the Forsworn."

There was a stunned silence. "And the Lethrblaka…" Eragon asked shakily.

"They were once dragons, yes."

**A/N: So poor Harry loses his wand just after getting used to it again...**

**I didn't explain this too well in the 1st version, but the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka kind of degenerated because they'd damaged their souls too much through dark magic (e.g. Helgrind). It's similar to how Voldemort's nose came off lol.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: The previous chapter had been updated once**

* * *

"Master…" the Ra'zac whimpered, "He was invisible, master…"

He waved him down impatiently. He was in no mood to listen to babble when such a development had occurred. A magician who can become invisible… If even he, Galbatorix, had no knowledge of such Words, then the unknown sorcerer deserved his attention. The coward of a Ra'zac had scrambled away with incredible speed, not even bothering to recover the other Lethrblaka – Here he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he recalled the name people had given the beasts, but as much as it displeased him, he would never identify such an ugly creature as a dragon.

But he would think about the Lethrblaka later. The Ra'zac who had returned, and who he had given a severe beating to vent his annoyance, had apparently seen a man cloaked in black hiding behind a turn in the passage. Naturally, Galbatorix had given the coward another hard blow for not looking closer _before_ scampering off. He sighed. The details he had managed to extract from his servant were hardly enough to go on. Granted, he could already think off one person who fitted the description well, but he quickly discarded that idea. He knew the boy's abilities fully and perfectly, and they did not include invisibility.

Whoever he was, the new opponent was not a threat. He had not pressed the fight when he apparently had an advantage, indicating that his strength was unexceptional at best. He relied solely on surprise, and left whenever true power was required. Yet, even the power of invisibility alone would make him a useful servant. Yes, very valuable. The best kinds of followers are like this: strong enough to do significant damage but helpless against their master.

The wizard had killed one of his strongest servants, perhaps to avenge a dead relative, but Galbatorix would forgive this. He would not mourn over spilt milk. The man's loyalty could still be easily won – the King had not wronged him directly, after all – and Galbatorix was quite proficient at persuasion.

He carefully traced his fingers along the blade of the invisible sword, feeling the cold steel against his skin. It was a curious weapon. He could also tell that it had some power, a very rare property to come by these days. Grasping its hilt, he swung it experimentally, and noticed how the magic that concealed it flickered. He wondered…

"Brisingr," He watched with satisfaction as the outlines of a sword glowed in the fire. He considered this his first victory in dominating it, in taming it to make it his own. "And now I can see you at last…"

"Jierda!" The fire was immediately snuffed out by the bolt of energy that struck the sword. He had committed more power into that Word than he normally would, but it was worth the effort. The light slowly faded to reveal a glistening, silver sword. Hungrily, he stared into the polished black stone on its hilt. He found it strangely alluring, in a way that was not quite dark and not quite clear.

Galbatorix hung the sword by his side in place of his old one. It would serve him well, as would its former wielder.

* * *

_Let's race! _Saphira circled happily overhead.

Shruikan sighed, amused and annoyed all at once. _Again, magnificent one? Shall I lose so that you could gloat for the rest of the day, or win so that you could snap at me and demand another rematch? _Still, he rose into the air to glide beside her. She would only improve if she was matched against an opponent, and he needed practice himself.

Currently Saphira had started to make a sharp turn left, toward the tree line, and he veered left as well to cut her off. She immediately flipped around in response and shot off in the opposite direction. Shruikan discovered this maneuver just in time to follow. Over their many races, Saphira had learned to abruptly change directions mid-turn, and had even nearly thrown him off a good many times. Other times she would charge straight at him and force him to dodge out of the way. It was becoming more and more challenging to analyze her intent.

He cut off another of her somersaults, suddenly noticing that she seemed to be doing this a lot near the tree line. Could she be trying to lead him off course? He must've unknowingly moved too close to the destination that she had to make him turn. But this would mean that their destination was somewhere along the tree line, he realized, and somewhere close by. Victorious, he began to wait for an opportunity to approach it.

He belatedly noticed that he was smiling, and hurriedly resumed a neutral expression. Still, he wasn't quick enough. In a backward glance, Saphira noticed that he'd discovered the secret. She suddenly pelted toward a tree, angling herself in preparation to turn right, and he dived on her right side to cut her off.

But this time something was different. Saphira was stretching her neck a little longer than usual, and her back was tenser. There was going to be no turn! This was it! He flicked his tail sharply and dived left, streamlining his body as much as possible. They shot toward the tree at exactly the same pace, each trying to go faster but couldn't. It was going to be a tie, he thought.

Suddenly, Saphira opened her wings wide in an abrupt halt. He hurriedly turned, but she was already hovering triumphantly. _I win, _she announced, and showed him the destination that she'd locked away in her mind as proof. It was a spot in the sky, about a meter from the tree.

_Congratulations, _he told her genuinely, _what you did in the end was very clever. _Use a major landmark nearby to conceal the true destination. He'd remember that one next time.

_Thank you, _she replied, _your turn to set the destination. _

The day quickly passed, and by the time the sun approached the horizon they had both mastered something new. _That was fun! _Saphira thought.

Shruikan nodded in agreement. _Though I better rest before Brom inevitably beats me to a pulp with that thrice-damned piece of steel. _He transformed into Harry and landed gently beside a pretty-looking creek. As he would rather not face Brom's sword yet, he strolled upstream along the pebbled bank. Warm light from the setting sun shimmered in the water, dancing over the rocks and the gentle ripples.

He paused. Further upstream, something was making rhythmic splashes in the stream. It grew louder, stop, and started again. Could it be a deer? A bird? He stared at the bush that concealed the source of the sound, briefly debating whether to go up to it or not. Eventually his curiosity and vigilance reached a compromise. He reached out with his mind, gently brushing a tiny tendril of thought against the other presence.

He'd expected to touch the fuzzy, hazy emotions of a wild animal, or at most the bickering thoughts of a villager. He didn't expect to find an armoured mind. He quickly recoiled, glad that he had kept his touch light. As Brom had pointed out, it was in his best interest to avoid mental confrontations for the time being. It would disrupt the healing of his mind, and he couldn't afford to let that happen.

Yet, now he'd learned of a considerably powerful person in the Spine, he couldn't simply turn back. Disillusioning himself, he levitated just high enough to see over the bushes and found what he was looking for. A tattered-looking young man was washing what looked like a cloak and a tunic. Harry swallowed a gasp when he saw the man's face. _Impossible… _

How could _he _be here?

* * *

How very confusing, Murtagh thought.

He'd been tailing the Ra'zac for weeks – or was it months now? – before he'd followed them to Teirm. He'd hidden himself in the citadel corridor, intending to leave a safe distance between his targets and himself, only for one of the Ra'zac to double back erratically. Strange, as he'd heard nothing happen around the corner. He'd even peeked into that part of the passage after the Ra'zac had left, and saw nothing out of ordinary.

The Lethrblaka were gone by the time he'd exited the castle. At first glance he'd thought that both Ra'zac had flown away, but then he saw the frayed end of a rope hanging off the fence and realized that one of the beasts had escaped. There was also some blood on the ground. Quite a lot of blood, in fact. Whoever left it there must've been grievously injured.

It was later that the last and most ridiculous event of the evening occurred. He'd stretched his neck, and had just happened to look up and see something fly overhead. Anyone else might've easily thought it was a bird, he supposed, but not him. Anyone who'd actually seen a dragon in flight would not mistake it for anything else. Yet, it couldn't be… could it?

A little over a week had passed since then. Having lost the Ra'zac for good, he'd decided to camp in the Spine for some time. He didn't want to stay in one place for long, and he'd thought the Spine was the most likely place a dragon would go. He'd hardly expected to meet it, but he'd harbored hope.

He was looking wretched at the moment. The hem of his cloak was soaked with mud from the road, and there was a large stain of blood on his tunic from the last guard he'd killed. He'd stopped at a creek to wash his clothes, mulling over the very confusing series of recent events, when –

"Hullo, there!"

Murtagh nearly lost his footing in surprise. He warily looked up and saw a man some distance away, hopping from one rock to another to get to him. The stranger looked a little older than himself. He was also dressed simply in black. The main difference between the stranger's attire and his own, Murtagh noticed, was the lack of weapons. Whereas Murtagh was heavily armed, the man only carried a sword.

Not that it mattered, Murtagh thought. One look at the man's physique showed that he wouldn't do too well in a fight, armed or not. He was probably a recent refugee from one of the cities.

"I didn't expect to meet anyone else in the Spine," now close enough to talk comfortably, the stranger said in a cheery voice, "very few would dare to come here."

If this man was so eager to make small talks, Murtagh thought, then he was probably new to this way of life. But then he continued, "I won't ask for your name. People only come to the Spine to hide from authority. Still, I think if we expect to live here for long and stay sane, we have to try to trust one another and seek company whenever it's possible."

Who was this stranger? Curious, Murtagh reached out to the man's mind only to find it guarded. He was further taken aback when the man spoke in the Ancient Language.

The stranger smiled warmly. "You are proficient to some degree in magic, yes? I wonder if you understood."

Murtagh hesitated, debating whether to reply. "You said you are no agent or supporter of the King," he said at last.

"Correct," the man smile grew wider, "and what about you?"

He wanted to know if he could trust me, Murtagh thought. He paused, weighing his options. He could see no harm in admitting his own dislike for Galbatorix. Besides, it might be good to befriend the stranger. Though he hated to admit it, the isolation was starting to wear him down. Tentatively, he repeated the same oath in the Ancient Language.

"Brilliant!" the man beamed, and for some reason Murtagh felt a tiny amount of relief. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he needed the stranger's trust, after all. "So how did you escape, Murtagh Morzansson?"

Murtagh tensed, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. His hand instinctively went to his sword. "How do you know my name?" he demanded. He could no longer afford to underestimate the man. He was now entirely in survival mode.

"We've been introduced once by our former master, Murtagh. Well, it might be more accurate to say that I've been introduced to you. He felt you weren't my concern." How? He had no "master" except… But that was impossible! Murtagh searched his memories for a man with jet black hair and slightly haunting ice-blue eyes. He had been sure to remember everyone of importance, but he didn't recall meeting such a person at Galbatorix's court.

"I don't expect you to recognize me. I looked quite different then." The not-quite-stranger used the same lighthearted voice as before, though Murtagh could tell that a minute amount of tension was seeping through. "You realize we're in the same boat, Murtagh. We can maximize our chances of survival by trusting each other, but only if we can be entirely sure that both of us are free from Galbatorix's influence. I'd like to tell you my story, but since it's connected to a host of other secrets I'm afraid you'll have to talk first."

Again Murtagh deliberated. How he escaped wasn't really a secret anymore, not to anyone important at least. The King had been anticipating it, and had probably already heard the whole account from some soldier. Besides, the potential friend had given Murtagh enough information to use as leverage. It couldn't hurt to tell, he supposed.

Concentrating, he started to gather memories to send to the other, but then he decided to simply draw back the shields in his mind entirely. It was far more than what the man had asked for, but it felt lightening. It was a subconscious attempt to be accepted, to prove that he was not his father. He just hoped it was not a costly mistake.

He felt the other's thoughts gently sweeping through his own. "You're better than Morzan in his youth," the blue eyes looked thoughtful, "you have both his appearance and his power, but thankfully not his fatal weakness."

"You knew my father before the fall of the Riders!" Murtagh spluttered. Another impossibility. The man looked far too young, and he was most definitely not an elf. "How ?" But he didn't need to ask, because he soon realized that the other's mental shields had been drawn back as well. Returning the same courtesy? Unsure of what to expect, he stepped into the other's mind.

_He saw Galbatorix enter a large room. A boy in black followed him into the room shyly. _But that was himself, Murtagh thought. This must be the introduction! Eagerly, he dove back into the other's mind.

_"It is an honour, my king," The boy was saying with reverence. He saw Galbatorix smile, pleased that everything was going to plan. "True, Murtagh. I do not make this introduction for anyone save those I trust most, and I have not done so for a long time." _Any moment now, Murtagh thought.

_He saw Galbatorix take the boy's hand and turn to face him. "Murtagh, I would like you to meet Shruikan."_

What! Murtagh quickly riffled through the other's memories. _He was flying beside Morzan. He was glad for the rare chance to leave his tower, but he also feared for the young one they seeked – _This cannot be possible! _ He and Galbatorix were gaining on the giant dragon and the wounded Rider. He'd heard of their greatness, but the knowledge only made him angrier that they had not kept him safe – _As ridiculous as it sounded, there were no other explanation… _He was in a very dark place. He saw nothing, but he could hear voices all around. It's time, he decided, and his world was filled with light – _

Murtagh sprang back, heart pounding. The blue eyes that watched him were most definitely still human, although he could now see how they were familiar. "The world is full of impossibilities, friend."

"You don't say…" Murtagh nodded numbly. Calming himself, he dove back into Shruikan's – oh wait, Harry's – memories, walking among them until he encountered a hazy mist that obscured his view. He knew better than to challenge the mental block, so he cooperatively backed out of Harry's mind

* * *

Harry slid his shielding back into place. This had gone surprisingly well, and he didn't regret his decision. "I must hide that segment of memory from you because it concerns those I now travel with. I assume you'd like to meet them?" He stretched his mind until he located Brom, Eragon, and Saphira. It was less difficult than he'd expected, suggesting that they were nearby. _I am here, _he sent them an image of his surroundings, _with someone I have called friend. I believe it is in our interest to make him an ally, but I will leave the decision to you._

After some consideration, he sent them Murtagh's face as well. Brom's mind noticeably wavered. _You do realize who he is?_

_He'd opened his entire mind to me, _He replied._ I've done nearly the same for him, showing him all of my memories from before I met Eragon. I trust him as I trust you. _

He left them to consider. Just as it had been crucial to keep Eragon out of the King's reach, it was important that Murtagh never returned to Uru'baen. Judging from his strength and his character, the likelihood of an egg hatching for him was high. Granted, the young man was taking care of himself, but he still felt they'd all be safer together.

_Alright, _Brom sent back, _we're coming. _Harry relayed this to Murtagh. "Who are they?" Murtagh asked curiously.

"The first is a man you've surely heard of, the second is one you ought to meet. And the third –" There was a gust of wind as Saphira dramatically swooped down from the sky with Eragon and Brom on her back. "Well, you know her from Teirm."

He smiled widely. "Let's go somewhere to talk, shall we?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry... My teachers had decided to fill my week with tests**

They found a clearing for Saphira to land, and Brom and Eragon slid off her back cautiously. Brom's expression was inscrutable, but suspicion was clearly spelt out on Eragon's face. Clearly Brom had told Eragon about Murtagh's identity and parentage.

On his side, Murtagh's lips were drawn tight. Although the young man was returning Eragon's glare with a calm, leveled gaze, he could see that it took great effort.

Harry recounted how he'd found Murtagh at the creek, keeping the relaxed smile plastered firmly over his face. In the security of his mind, he was reconstructing the discussions that would've surely occurred after his companions received his message. They would've wondered why Murtagh was in the forest. Did Murtagh know about them? Was this a trap, or an attempt at assassination? True, Murtagh was neither cruel nor greedy like his father, but the atrocities that Morzan had committed would not be forgotten.

Could they accept Murtagh because Harry trusted him? Unfortunately not. What if Harry, or Shruikan, was a part of the plot? Even though they'd seen more than enough proofs of his sincerity from his mind, no one could completely trust someone who'd killed so many of their kins. It didn't really matter whether they were acting by their own will or not. He would have close friends, Angela had said, yet he would be lonely. He understood her now. They would trust him with virtually everything, as he would trust them, but there would always be a miniscule speck of doubt.

But they'd come when they could've refused, or even made him lead Murtagh into an ambush. This reassured him greatly.

His version of the story completed, Harry took a small step back to show that his part in the negotiations was done. It was clearly in Eragon's, and by extension Brom and Saphira's, interest to meet Murtagh, if only to find out how Murtagh would play his hand. Similarly, it was also in Murtagh's interest to meet Eragon. However, there was no say in what would happen now. He would prefer that they join forces, but there was nothing more he could do. Murtagh would not pledge allegiance to anyone easily. Eragon would not be keen to accept a stranger's company either, much less to win it.

Would Murtagh, like himself, make an exception for Eragon on the grounds that the boy's mindset was not yet set in stone? Would Eragon, Saphira and Brom feel the need to ensure that Murtagh would not fall to the Empire? Now that they'd actually met, it was unlikely that they would simply walk away as if nothing had happened. It was more likely that one side would attack the other in an attempt to neutralize the threat, but his presence should deter this.

It was Murtagh spoke first. "I would like to travel with you, if you decide that you trust me enough. I am more familiar with the Empire than you are. Plus I'm proficient enough with a sword to be of use to you in battle. As Harry said, we can maximize our chance of survival by staying together."

"Will you allow me or Eragon into your mind?" Brom asked.

"No, I will not." A definite, unwavering no. Subconsciously, Murtagh was afraid that he would be judged. He didn't feel vulnerable before Harry-Shruikan, but he would if he'd opened his mind to Brom or Eragon.

Brom frowned. "We cannot deny that travelling together has many obvious advantages," he told Eragon, "but since you're the Rider I suppose the right to decide remains with you and Saphira."Eragon hesitated. Harry could tell from the way his eyes became slightly unfocused that he was conferring with Saphira.

Seconds passed like hours. Eventually, Eragon replied, "We trust you, Murtagh." Just enough to hold the group together, but that was all they needed at the moment. The rest would come later.

They remained in the forests for the weeks to come, as no one had any particular destination in mind. The sparring matches continued, but Eragon was beginning to outgrow Brom as an opponent. Fortunately Murtagh was on par with Eragon, and they began to practice together instead.

Brom was therefore able to pick through Harry's clumsy movements with much more intensity. Harry was still unable to score a single hit, and each of his countless attempts was rewarded with a fresh bruise on his arms. The good news was that he fell less often, and he could block a good percentage of blows to his head and his ribcage. His injuries were now concentrated on his limbs, which would usually grow too numb for him to feel anyways.

"You're still as thin as a stick," Brom commented one day, "That's odd. Eragon would've packed on some weight by now." Harry glanced at Eragon, who had been attempting to lift a small boulder with magic, and noted how the boy's arms rippled with lean muscles. Eragon looked much stronger than when they first met, but he himself hadn't changed one bit.

The same went for his complexion, now that he considered it. His three friends all sported a healthy tan, while his own skin was still ridiculously pale… Well, when it wasn't covered with bruises, of course. "Can't help it," Harry shrugged. "Waise heile." A tiny trickle of energy coursed through his body, and he watched with satisfaction as his purplish arms turned back to white.

Once again, his achievements with magic were much more heartening. He'd continued to push the boundaries of his power, but he'd quickly discovered energy-conserving substitutes for more than half the Words he knew. _Galbatorix must've been very powerful indeed_, he thought grimly, _to develop such a strong affinity for fancy words._

Harry had also managed to master the wandless _repardo _charm, which he'd nearly been able to do the morning of his thirtieth birthday, among dozens of other spells. Strangely, while the more battle-ready hexes and spells eluded him, the odd jinxes reserved for pranks were surprisingly easy. He couldn't cast _stupefy_ or _impedimenta _for his life. Instead, he could make his victims vomit slugs, dance unstoppably, or turn a pretty shade of canary yellow.

"But how would that help?" Murtagh had asked a determined-looking Harry as flowers sprouted out of an unfortunate rabbit's fur.

Harry grinned. "Just you wait and see. Half the army will die of embarrassment, and the other half will die from laughing too hard." He was hoping that by practicing any form of wandless magic, he would gradually gain more luck with the spells that he actually needed.

Perhaps due to his affinity to souls, there was one other spell that proved to be terribly easy. It was the only spell that he was able to cast perfectly on first try, wand or wandless. It was _Avada kedavra. _

He'd nearly laughed out loud at the irony when he saw the jet of green light appear at his fingertip. Then he'd discreetly vanished the carcass of the spider, carefully shielded the memory of the incident, and hadn't spoken of it since. He would save it for dire situations, he decided. It would be his last element of surprise.

When he was not flying, practicing magic, or being beaten up by Brom, he was telling Murtagh about Alagaesia's past. He'd seen a glimpse of the old Rider's order only as he was dismantling it. Still, he knew enough about the way the Riders functioned to appreciate them now. They had a number of problems, true, but at least there was peace and justice. The Brodding Kingdom, he remembered, was impressive in its own right. It had been growing, and was almost on the verge of enlightenment before it was plunged back into chaos.

In return, Murtagh told him about Alagaesia's present. It was rather funny, he thought as Murtagh described the personalities of all the earls and lords. These people all more or less acted as if their positions were birthrights. The fact that the king had given out titles mostly at random was long forgotten. Had the people of the Brodding Kingdom been so self-centered and short-sighted? He had a feeling they'd been more compassionate then.

In his black throneroom, Galbatorix smiled victoriously at the image in the water.

He could see Morzan's son, Murtagh, as clearly as if he was before him. The boy was seated cross-legged, back hunched, and pointing at what was most likely the ground in front of him. He did not know where Murtagh was, but simply the fact that he could not see the boy's surroundings narrowed down the possibilities significantly. There were very few places that he had not seen, after all.

The boy's mouth was moving, and he leaned in closer to the water to hear better. "... and there are people living all along the coast here. This is where I stayed for a while, before I saw Saphira."

Success. His lips drew back in a feral smile. In the corner of his eye he saw a servant run off with a terrorized face, but he would be gracious today. He had suspected that Murtagh might become disillusioned. Young men were usually too idealistic to grasp the concept of collateral damage, and there were always minor differences between father and son. And Murtagh had left his service, or so he thought.

Before, Galbatorix had known nothing about the new Rider except a name. He could not scry Brom either, for he had no memories of the Riders whose skills were unremarkable. Now, he could freely listen in on all of their conversations and their plans through Murtagh. It was a matter of time before they would be captured. It seemed that Murtagh had helped him in more ways than the boy realized.

"Should I ask her to fly higher?" A young man's voice, most likely the new Rider.

"It's unlikely that anyone else would recognize her," an old man's voice replied, "Murtagh's circumstances were unique, for want of a better word."

There was a pause, during which Murtagh stood up and took a step backward. He looked as if he was… laughing? "Sorry, Harry, but you _are_ the best cook among us."

Galbatorix frowned at the abrupt change of topic. Who was this Harry? He had never heard of such a name before. He waited for some sort of grumbled reply, but heard only silence. Was Harry unable to speak?

He continued to listen as soup was apparently cooked and served and Murtagh began to eat with an invisible spoon. The young Rider, Eragon, seemed to be at least a proficient swordman, though his magical training was still rudimentary. He was hotheaded and naïve, which was good. His homesickness could also be a weak point. The companion, Brom, was blunt, cautious, and somewhat secretive. He was clearly the leader and the ultimate decision maker of the group. He had also taken it upon himself to become a father figure for Eragon, and to a much lesser extent Murtagh. And the silent cook? Harry was a man, neither very old nor very young. He was also capable of wielding magic.

Murtagh had set down his invisible spoon at this point. A whoosh of wind followed by the rustling of leaves indicated the dragon's takeoff. Galbatorix was about to put away the bowl of water when he heard, "Saphira said Shruikan can fly very well if he wants to."

They had seen his dragon? The previously calm water in the bowl rippled. Months ago he had been shocked beyond word when he had realized that something was off and had found the dragonhold empty. He could neither scry Shruikan nor reach his mind, meaning that the elves had either hidden him out of range or killed him. He knew now that it was the former.

This, again, meant two things. First, the new Rider had contact with the elves. They could have even met the ones who were powerful enough to dismantle his wards. If this was the case, then he would have to make haste. It would be much more difficult to control the boy if the elves' influence deepened.

Second, he should now allow Eragon to live. Sooner or later, Galbatorix knew, the elven settlements would fall. He was growing stronger by day, and they would not be able to defend themselves when he finally marches out of Uru'baen. It was only a matter of time, and he had plenty of time and patience.

The elves respected the dragons' decision to spare Shruikan, but they had made a mistake. The only one who could take from him was death.


	12. Chapter 12

Murtagh was concerned, terribly concerned for his friends' sanity.

Who in their right mind, while on the run from the Empire, would want to visit a _prison_? How is "We have to go there!" a normal reaction to being told of the ultimate dungeon and torture chamber that was Gi'lead? What was Eragon thinking? He had been unusually stubborn and unreasonable about their new destination, though he refused to explain no matter how Murtagh pressed him for information. Even Brom, who was supposed to be the wise elder of the group, had simply _conceded_ to this. Murtagh sighed. _Seriously! What's gotten into them?_

Shruikan heard a tiny sigh from one of his loads, the fifth time since they'd taken off. Murtagh was rightly worried. Aside from Uru'baen, Gi'lead was decidedly the worst place to go for avoiding capture. Nevertheless, he knew that protesting the plan was useless. When Eragon had abruptly asked him and Murtagh where important prisoners were kept, he had a feeling that the boy was looking for someone they'd better find. If this person was really one of the … special prisoners held in Gi'lead, chances are that he or she could influence the fate of the country.

Eragon was staring at one of Saphira's scales absently, his thoughts wholly on the beautiful yet grievously injured woman from his dreams. Who was she, and who did this to her? He hadn't listened when Murtagh tried to warn him of danger. He only felt that he had to find her, to protect her…

Saphira wondered why Eragon's blood seemed to burn through his veins sometimes, as it was doing now. It was a curious feeling, one she couldn't describe. What could it be? Not poison, surely? It certainly wasn't unpleasant, from what she could see. Perhaps Shruikan would know? Or maybe Brom or Murtagh? She turned her head to glance at her entourage, and saw that they all looked so preoccupied for some reason. Especially the old one – his forehead was so creased that it might pass for a map of the Spine! She would have to ask another time, it seemed.

Brom was contemplating his dilemma that had begun back in Planacar Valley. Gi'lead was where he'd arranged for a contact to take them to the Vardens. He'd hoped that he'd have more time to prepare Eragon, or even to consider whether to show Eragon to them. He didn't expect to be going there so soon.

Should he take the group to the Vardens? Eragon had been pestering him about Trojheim ever since they'd left Teirm. He'd kept the important details to himself every time, but he knew he couldn't put it off indefinitely. Eragon will demand to know, and then probably insist on joining the rebels that his village had glorified. There were benefits to this, of course. The Vardens would offer the protection of a fortress and an army, and they could accomplish more by joining forces. Still, Brom couldn't rid himself of the image of Eragon being torn apart by a pack of hungry jackals.

Shruikan and Murtagh's presence made the decision both easier and more difficult. They would protest any mention of joining the Vardens, since unfortunately they would not receive a warm welcome there. Should he convince Eragon to remain independent of the Varden for their sake? Or would they have to part ways at Gi'lead? Brom hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd feel personally responsible should anything happen to them.

The journey to Gi'lead was surprisingly lengthy. No one had enough experience to navigate the vast, open plain, and they had to travel all the way North to Daret before they could follow the river south. They replenished their supplies whenever they had the opportunity to visit a settlement. Harry had finally managed to acquire enough ingredients to brew a small supply of polyjuice potion, which was rather fortunate since notices promising an earldom for Eragon's capture were abundant in the larger cities. It seemed that Galbatorix was also willing to pay handsomely for Brom and Murtagh, so much that they became popular gossip among villagers. In a tavern in Yazuac, they'd overheard a drunken man loudly proclaim that this "Eragon fellow" ought to be some high-ranking nobleman who'd "filched the King's treasury" and ran.

"You poor idiot," his red-faced neighbour hiccupped, "do you not see here that 'Eragon' is not yet a man? Who by the gods would let a boy run a treasury? I tell you," and here he leaned in mysteriously, "'Eragon' is the King's secret son! That's why he's making such a big fuss over a boy!"

At this point Eragon had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing too loudly.

There were fortunately no notices for Harry. It would be very annoying if he had to drink polyjuice potion, because he suspected he would not be able to transform until its effect wears off. He knew a charm that allowed him to change his features at will, but he wasn't about to try it on himself wandless. For all he knew, he could easily end up with a permanent pig snout, or worse.

Brom had, as expected, seized any opportunity along the way to teach Eragon new skills. These included scrying, something that Eragon was the most keen on learning. The boy learned quickly, now that he was more familiar with magic. He was soon able to see blurry images of his right boot, Brom's sword, and Murtagh's golden horn. He still couldn't scry people, namely Harry, but this had no effect on his enthusiasm.

The heavily fortified city of Gi'lead lay on the flat, open shore of Lake Isenstar. Its walls glowed an ominous orange in the setting sun. From afar, it had an uncanny resemblance to a boulder in a barren field. This was the boulder they needed to confront, and they were only a fortnight away. _Saphira and Shruikan should hunt now, _Brom suggested. They would have no time to stop if they were forced to flee the city, and he suspected that it was likely.

They found a herd of deer a few leagues north. He had always appreciated how the wide-eyed animal galloped so lightly and swiftly across the land. He thought they had a certain grace, though he was most likely simply remembering a patronus. _Sympathizing with the prey now, am I?_ He interrupted his train of thought with a dry laugh. _Then I will make it quick. _

Like a pair of aimed spears, the dragons swooped down and neatly picked off the last two members of the herd. The rest of the deers, sensing danger, quickly bolted off in various directions. Saphira swallowed her kill in two bites and licked her lips with satisfaction. _I don't think I could do that before, _she hummed, _I must be growing. _She tilted her head to find Shruikan staring into the distance, after the deer. _Is something wrong?_

_I can't say…_ He narrowed his eyes. In his mind, he replayed how the deer herd fled, almost… panicking? Normally they would've noticed neither him nor Saphira, so how was it that even the front of the herd felt threatened? It was as if they'd been frequently disturbed, to the point that they must remain tense every waking second. _I think we're sharing this field with someone who most likely won't offer us a warm reception. A sizable group too, considering how much they hunted. We must be careful. _

Eragon, Brom, and Murtagh were waiting for them in the minimal protection of a small hill, having already set up camp. "We've just went over our plans for tomorrow. We think everything is in order." Tomorrow they would enter Gi'lead.

Harry nodded. "We sneak into the city invisible tomorrow morning, follow a soldier into the fortress, and improvise from there?"

"And then we finish what we need to do, follow a soldier out, and bolt." Murtagh finished.

"If nothing happens to us, then that would be the plan, yes." Brom said, blowing smoke rings from his pipe.

Eragon was staring intently at the map they'd drawn in the dirt. The knuckle of his right hand was white from his tight grip on Zar'roc's handle. "Lighten up! We'll be fine," Murtagh nudged him gently, standing up, "I'll take the first watch."

Harry arranged his cloak beneath him and drifted into a light sleep. He often dreamed when he would periodically release some control over his thoughts, but they were rarely coherent enough to be memorable. Unlike tonight's.

He thought he was standing over a large, blood-splattered battlefield. Mangled, unidentifiable bodies of fallen soldiers lay all around. The majestic black towers some distance away stood silent and solemn, just like their name – Uru'baen. And he was walking toward them with slow, soft steps. He'd halted in front of one particular corpse that he recognized. King Galbatorix. Oath breaker. Wyrdfell.

At last.

And he expected to feel joy, or else satisfaction, but instead he felt blank. It was just another battlefield, just another ruin. Wasn't this what he'd wanted? Galbatorix's downfall? Of course it was. The question was absurd.

A better question, then. Was this _all_ he'd wanted?

A ear-splitting shriek jerked him awake. "I guess a wake-up call's unnecessary then," Murtagh muttered, pulling his sword out of the Urgal attacker he'd just stabbed to plunge it into another. Harry sprang up just in time to block two clubs that would've otherwise collided with his head, and readied his sword as the Urgals began to circle him, searching for another opportunity. He was still inexperienced with swords, but his reflex was fast enough that he could rely primarily upon it. This worked well enough, and from the attackers' heavy panting he could tell that the fight was nearing the end.

Murtagh eventually fell the Urgals for him. Straightening up, they breathed in the cold, still air. Saphira growled softly beside them. The plain was empty again, and Eragon and Brom… were gone. "I think I saw the Urgals club them over the head," Murtagh said, "knocked them out, and then carried them away."

Harry nodded. "They're probably being brought into the dungeon." And they stood over the hill for some time, watching the rough, stony fortress of Gi'lead.

"So far, so good?"

-(some time ago)-

"Fine, we'll go to Gi'lead even though it's virtually suicide," Murtagh was saying, "but we need a plan."

_We shouldn't talk out loud, _Harry interrupted.

Brom nodded. _Remember that Galbatorix had seen you. There's a chance that he might be scrying you right now. _They'd realized this hazard the day they met at the creek, but Harry had insisted that they continue to communicate normally for the most part. The more the King felt in control, the less likely he was to take lethal action.

_Getting into the city itself is easy when we can fly invisibly, _Murtagh considered, _but attempting a jailbreak, and I suspect that's our goal, would be much more difficult. We'll have to somehow get into the fortress first, and then we'll have to locate the prisoner. But how do we do this without even knowing where the cells are?_

_Suppose we sneak in and somehow force a guard to tell us? _Eragon asked.

Harry nodded. _That could work, but I don't think all guards have access to all the prisoners. _Galbatorix liked to keep layers and layers of secrets. It contributed largely to the King's perceived omniscience.

_And we don't know how the watches work, _Brom added, _if only we can get all this information somehow.._.

_Well, _Harry mused, _I suppose we can observe the cells and see for ourselves._

_But that's the problem! _ _How do we get into the dungeon?_

_Easily, _Harry replied, _by getting captured. _

And now the plan was underway.


	13. Chapter 13

Awaking inside the tiny cell, Eragon blinked sluggishly to rid his vision of the blinding white light that filled it. After a few minutes, he managed to open his eyes enough to make out the rocky walls, the iron door and the small barred window. His head was strangely and blissfully fuzzy, and he could hardly concentrate enough to realize what had just happened.

The orb of light that had danced in front of his eyes earlier hadn't disappeared. Instead, it had sharpened and clarified until he could make out the image of a dragon. The translucent, silver figure was in size and shape a new hatchling, reminding him of Saphira as she first crawled out of her egg. The only difference was that it could soar, and its solemnity and grace as it circled greatly resembled Shruikan in flight.

Eragon stretched his hand toward the bright figure, hoping it would move closer. He didn't know why, but its presence was comforting. It made him happier, more hopeful, and more ready in the face of danger. In its company, he was able to fight the influence of the drug he had no doubt been given and slowly clear his head. He was in the fortress of Gi'lead. He was here to rescue the woman he had dreamt of and scryed. He and Brom were supposed to find out where she was, and then coordinate an escape with their friends outside.

And the silver dragon gladly went to him, stopping to hover beside his ear. _How are you feeling, Eragon? _Said Harry's voice quietly.

"As if I've drunk an entire barrel of beer, but I can think better now," Eragon replied in the same whisper, then added curiously, "The silver dragon you sent me… what is it?"

_The embodiment of hope and true happiness and, in my opinion, the most elegant form of soul magic. The ability to deliver messages is an added bonus. But we must concentrate. It seems that Galbatorix had ordered that you and Brom be placed in separate cells. I'd expected as much. Are you able to see what's outside your cell?_

With some struggle, Eragon pushed himself onto his feet. "There's a window on the door," he stood on his toes to see through the bars, "I can see a very wide hallway, almost ten yards across. There are cells on the other side like mine. Oh, there's also a window in the wall of my cell, opposite to the door. From this one I can see… a street, I think. It's very busy, and lined with identical log houses."

_That's excellent. We've studied the fortress and its surroundings last night. I think I know which street you're talking about. The size of the windows is not an issue, so you can easily escape through there. The challenge is freeing our prisoner of interest. We've tried peeking through the cell windows, but we couldn't see anyone inside. They looked rather like sewers, to be honest._

Then it's really up to me, Eragon thought.

_Have they brought you food yet? Don't eat or drink anything they give you, because it's sure to be drugged. But they also mustn't suspect that the shackles they'd fitted on you are failing._

Eragon nodded. "I'll push it out the window. This way it's also easier for you to find me."

_Certainly. I will check on Brom now, but you'll know that I'm scrying you again when my messenger reappears. _With that, the silver dragon turned into a stream of silver smoke and disappeared. Eragon was reluctant to see it go, as he would be alone again. But that was alright, because he felt stronger now. He continued to search for his magic. The success of their mission may very well depend upon it, and it was his responsibility to pull his share of the weight.

* * *

_Eragon is safe. He's been drugged, as you most likely are, but he's recovering. Murtagh, Saphira and I are unharmed. _Harry peered into the small puddle, at Brom's sitting figure and the patronus on his shoulder. It had taken him a while to learn the charm again. At first he thought it was the difficulty of a wandless spell, but then he realized that he'd simply been trying the wrong memories. He hadn't been surprised that it was now a dragon instead of a stag, though he still wondered why it looked like himself as a hatchling. Maybe it was the happiest, most hopeful moment of his life? But this should be irrelevant, since it wasn't the moment he'd used. He needed memories from after his two pasts merged, not before. Perhaps it was the age of his soul before it was mutilated? This didn't completely make sense either. Or, more likely, it reflected his soul's current state.

He gave Brom a quick update on what he'd learned about Gi'lead since yesterday. He was just about to remind Brom not to eat the food when he heard a rumbling noise. _Is that footsteps?_ His patronus hid deftly in a corner on its own accord.

"Soldiers are marching in the hall," Brom peered out of the barred window on the door. "By the gods, there's so many! Is this the entire army?"

_It seems that someone had taken it upon himself to terrify the young Rider further. The King would've considered an order like this too petty, although it might've been a smart move.I wonder what sort of captain was entrusted with a place as strategic as Gi'lead. _It would've been safest, and characteristic of Galbatorix, to choose at least two officers – one for his prowess, and the other for his loyalty. This way, the King could ensure control over the prisoners as well as the jailers.

"I don't know if you've seen this before, but the synchronized march of thousands of hardened soldiers is truly a formidable sight… Hang on, there's a break in the column!"

Harry's breath caught in his throat as a tall man with blood red hair and eyes suddenly came into view. He wore a red cape and a long sword, which was thin and pale like its wielder. Presently he was slightly turned, sharply filed teeth bared in a dangerous smile. _The Shade! _

"Durza," Brom said grimly, "I see you've met. There's also someone being carried, but I can't see her face yet. She's nearer now… Arya?"

_Who is she?_

"The daughter of the elven queen. She must've been the one carrying Saphira's egg between Tronjheim and the elven settlements before she was forced to send it to me! It's no wonder that the elves withdrew their support."

_And she'd somehow managed to contact Eragon in his dreams. _He was right to assume that this rescue was crucial. The relationship between human and elves must be mended if the world was to prosper again.

"This isn't good. We must rescue her, but then we'll have a Shade to content with… I think a confrontation might be inevitable this time, but be careful still. Shades can be several times as strong as a normal human, and sometimes more powerful in magic than the Riders. Don't fight him for longer than necessary."

_Understood, _Harry confirmed before replacing Brom's image with Eragon's. "Harry! There's a Shade in Gi'lead!"

_Tall, thin, pale and red, right? Brom saw him too. _

"That's him! Why didn't the soldiers kill him on sight? I heard a trail of blood is sure to follow wherever Shades go!"

_His name's Durza, according to Brom, and he's working for the King. I believe he's the one who taught Galbatorix dark magic in the first place, actually. Did he smirk at you?_

"Yes… How did you know?"

_Didn't think he would smirk at anyone else. This means that Brom's cell is about four cells to your right, and the elf's – Brom says her name's Arya by the way – is on his right. Hang on, I think you're about to have a visitor. _The silver patronus disappeared again as Durza came into view. Harry watched carefully as the Shade bullied the captain before entering Eragon's cell.

"Greetings. I've waited a long time to meet you." As characteristic of certain soul magic, like the patronus, a Shade's appearance reflects the state of his spirits and mind. In Durza's case the correlation couldn't be clearer. Bright red hair and eyes, for his fiery bloodlust. Pointed teeth, as he was a predator. A malnourished demeanor, for his endless hunger for power as well as the inherent weakness of evil spirits.

"Who – who are you?" Eragon asked, slurring his words.

"No one of consequence. My name does not matter to one in your position. It wouldn't mean a thing to you anyways. It's you that I'm interested in. Who are you?"

"M'name's Eragon, but that's not all I am, is it?"

"No it isn't, my young Rider. It seems I must be more direct. What is your name? No, not that one. Don't you have another one, one that you use only rarely?" Durza was testing Eragon's familiarity with the ancient language. The more experienced a magician was, the sooner he would react to the hint.

Eragon pretended to think, and then nodded foolishly. "Brom told me once. It was… Du Sundavar Freohr." Death of the shadows. The nerves the boy had… Harry contemplated as he watched Durza, who appeared genuinely uneasy. _An inexperienced child whose powers are undeveloped, yet who's now a real threat… How will youreact, Durza?_

"I must attend to certain matters, but while I'm gone you would do well to think on who you would rather serve: a Rider who betrayed your own order or a fellow man like me, though one skilled in arcane arts. When the time comes to choose, there will be no middle ground." Durza turned as if to leave, then suddenly stopped. "Captain! The boy hasn't been drinking his water. Why is that?" Eragon's fear was barely concealed as the Shade proceeded to give orders in a low, dangerous murmur. Perhaps it would be best if Durza realized that the name was false. From what Harry gathered of Durza, it was inevitable that the Shade would eventually attempt to kill Eragon against Galbatorix's wishes, if only out of self-preservation. Ideally, Durza wouldn't feel the need to do this before Eragon had become an even match for him.

They'd decided not to act until Eragon and Brom could use magic again. In the meantime, Harry and a disguised Murtagh surveyed the streets of Gi'lead, watching for potential hazards that might impede their escape. Each day, they'd vanished the hard bread and cheese outside the windows of their friends' cells, then discreetly passed some fresh, untainted food inside. Harry didn't dare replace the water in the jugs, but he squirted water into their cupped hands until their throats were no longer parched. Everyone needed to be at full strength if they were to run into Durza on their way out.

Harry thought Gi'lead was a rough, barbaric place. The log cabins, while easy to set up, were not very fireproof. This his allies could take advantage of, as fire was one of their assets, though evacuating the civilians could pose a challenge. However, apart from the large amount of firewood present, Gi'lead was ridiculously war-ready. The whole city was a giant barrack, housing a large portion of the Empire's army. The stone fort was high enough above the surrounding buildings that archers could cover a formidable distance. Of course, there would always be a blind spot along each street, but the soldiers in the log houses would take care of that.

The fortress itself was interesting. On the one hand, the design was highly strategic. There were a number of bottlenecks to trap incoming armies, and the star-shaped bastions ensured that no one could approach without being seen by soldiers on the roof. On the other hand, the boulders that formed the walls were roughly cut, irregular and uneven, with some even jutting out like splinters. This sometimes caused the walls to slope and curve outward, providing coverage for invaders if they managed to get close enough. This also made the fort less structurally sound. Harry could see several spots that might shatter if they were struck by a dozen well-timed, well-aimed catapults.

Although Galbatorix hadn't personally built anything outside Uru'baen, his style was heavily reflected in the city's construction. Gi'lead was cunning, imposing and formidable, but reliant on brute force and weak in foundation. It was virtually invincible, but if one knew how to aim –

His attention was diverted to the slight pressure of Saphira's thought against his mind. _Eragon spoke to me! He says he's ready. _

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter is the breakout! **

**p.s. thank you so much for the lovely reviews :D**


	14. Chapter 14

At sundown, the dusty street that ran next to the fortress of Gi'lead was gloomy, empty and, aside from three shimmery patches, perfectly normal.

_I'm entering Eragon's cell, _Harry vanished the bars on the low window and slipped inside without difficulty. The cell was annoyingly stuffy, and no doubt designed this way to psychologically weaken the prisoner. "They should be returning Arya to her cell any moment now," said Eragon as Harry examined the water jug with distaste. Indeed, footsteps were already echoing down the wide stone corridor. Harry and Eragon dashed to the window on the door, just as two burly, steely men came into view. They stared forward with unmoving faces, and dragged the elf between them.

"Hey! You big, loafing brutes!" Further down, Brom was yelling in a ringing voice. The men hardly paused, but squared their shoulders menacingly. Harry could no longer see their faces, but he was sure that their angry glares would make children howl. Brom shamelessly continued. "What'cha good for, anyways? Ugly brick-heads…" This time the soldiers stopped, dropping Arya to the ground. "You say that again –"

"Jierda," Harry black orbs of energy struck the soldiers in the back, who fell without a groan. A gentle push on the lock's mechanism unlocked the door so that it swung open without resistance. Eragon dashed to the elf's side. "She's still alive!"

"The King couldn't let her die just yet, or else she wouldn't be imprisoned in the first place. I expect they'd been careful not to damage any internal organs. Maybe they'd even healed her each night," Harry was kneeling by the soldiers. They were both dead, and, judging from their expressions, killed fairly quickly. He'd never used an Ancient Language spell on a person before. Perhaps a little less power next time would suffice?

"It would make our work easier," Brom said, having freed himself from his cell, "healing's never been my greatest strength."

Harry carefully levitated her into Eragon's cell and through the window, where an invisible Murtagh and Saphira waited. Once she was safely in their custody, he casted the necessary charms to hide her from sight, and paused for a split second.

"Everything alright?" Eragon asked with concern.

Harry nodded. He thought he'd heard quiet footsteps, but there was no time to waste either way. "Brom, you're next," Brom raised his arms over his head cooperatively as Harry floated him out of the window. A quick charm later, Brom had disappeared from view as well. They were almost home free! "It's lucky that the Shade hadn't caught us," Eragon smiled nervously.

He was cut off when the door swung open again to reveal a haughty man with a sharp-toothed smile and a voice like ice water. "Hadn't I?"

_Hellfire… _Harry silently shifted. Behind Eragon's back, he pressed the hilt of his own sword into the boy's palm and removed its disillusionment charm. "He will get to you before I can levitate you out," he whispered.

"I'll defend myself and try to injure him," Eragon discreetly whispered back, trying hard not to move his lips.

"I think you'll have to. But more importantly, try not to stand between Durza and the window."

Durza strode toward them leisurely, maroon eyes glinting with contempt. "Did you really think you can escape me? Du Sundavar Freohr? What a pitiful name. I would've expected something more subtle from you, but I suppose it's the best you're capable of."

Eragon said nothing, but quickly whipped out the sword in hope of catching the Shade off guard. Unfortunately, the surprise was hardly enough to prevent Durza from parrying the strike as if he was playing with a child. "So your friend's brought you a weapon," Durza laughed as Eragon hastily dodged, so that the tip of the long sword missed his shoulder by a hair's width, "Did your friend unblock the window for you too, or were you actually able to accomplish something for yourself?"

His gaze had lingered on the window a tad too long. _Protego! _"Jierda!" Time seemed to freeze as Harry and Durza raised their hand simultaneously. A jet of light collided with a shimmering golden shield. At first it seemed to hold, but barely a fraction of a second later it had shattered. Harry watched helplessly as the light went on to strike the faint, shimmering form outside the window. An invisible arrow whizzed past Durza's forehead and through the open door. "An interesting friend too, no doubt, but I'm afraid he is sadly departed."

Harry carefully shifted again, silently berating himself for forgetting to test the strength of the shield charm. He wanted to check on Murtagh, but now was not the time. He would need to help Eragon first. Peering through the cell's door, he eyed the bodies of the two soldiers and mapped out a trajectory in his mind. _Accio sword._

One of the soldiers' swords flew out of its sheath and zoomed straight into the cell. Durza had just disarmed Eragon with a flick of his wrist when it lodged itself solidly into the back of his neck. Harry pulled the sword to him by magic as Durza screamed with agony, translucent skin turning gray. Dark mist formed around the tall man's writhing form. Eventually it dissipated, leaving a pile of clothes and the long sword in its place.

Eragon and Harry dashed to the window. "How's Murtagh?"

"He's unconscious," came Brom's voice, "but otherwise uninjured I think." Harry stuck his hand out of the window. _Rennervate. _"He should be fine now," Harry said as Murtagh jolted upright, spluttering with surprise.

Eragon breathed with relief. "I can't believe you actually managed to kill a Shade!"

Harry picked up Durza's sword and quickly examined it. It was magically fortified, as he'd expected, which meant that he couldn't vanish it as he could a normal weapon. "Not quite, unfortunately. You can only kill a Shade by stabbing him in the heart," The heart was the sanctuary of the spirit, after all. The mind was only a gatehouse. But Harry couldn't topple that sanctuary just yet, for then Durza's spirits would have nothing to lose. Neither he nor Eragon could afford to become the subject of their final revenge.

"He will come back," Brom confirmed, "and he'll be more powerful than before."

Clambering footsteps rumbled above them. Soldiers were moving. Calm as ever, Harry levitated Eragon through the window. Suddenly remembering, he summoned Za'roc and passed that to his friends as well. "Great," Brom urged, "now get out of there!"

Harry took a contemplating glance at the two bodies slumped unceremoniously in the hallway. It was an awkward way to be left dead. "Just a moment,"

* * *

Minutes later, soldiers would pile outside the empty cell, peering through the ancient doorway with curiosity and amazement. Beneath the open window lay two of their comrades. Their hair had been smoothed, and arranged neatly to frame their peaceful faces. Their hands, which held their sword and a pure white lily, were folded over their chests solemnly. On the wall at their heads, written in water, were the fading words, "_Here our brothers fall, but here our future rises." _

* * *

"The Rider has escaped, m…my liege," the captain stammered, trying unsuccessfully to make his daily report in a way that didn't guarantee wrath.

"Useless fools!" Galbatorix exploded as his trusted commander shrank away from the scrying bowl. "How is it that half of my army can be evaded by a mere boy?"

"Guards ran to his cell immediately after someone screamed, your highness! But the cell was already empty, and the bars on the window were taken off clean! Riders are p…powerful, and he must've had help from the outside. There are even rumours that he'd killed two guards –"

"Rumours? You mean to tell me you were too lazy to check the cell yourself?"

"N…no! I went! I definitely went! Though I might've been a bit slow…"

Galbatorix interrupted him with a wave. "Where is Durza?"

"He's gone, my lord. We found his clothes and sword in a corner of the cell."

Galbatorix nodded in thought. As far as he could see, the Shade could not benefit from intentionally "losing" the boy. It was more likely that he had been too focused on gloating, and played a little too much. But no matter. Though the boy had hidden away again, and had most likely become wary of his intrusion as well, a boy was only a boy. And Galbatorix had plenty of cards to play. "Fine. Is there anything else?"

The captain, who had just let out a sigh of relief, paled. "Y…yes, my lord… The elf is gone."

"_What?"_

* * *

Meanwhile, the company of (give or take) four humans, three horses, two dragons and an elf landed on a small cliff, a safe distance from Gi'lead. Even if an army were to give chase in the right direction and at top speed, it would not reach the spot until the next day.

"I didn't think you would care so much for the dead," Brom commented, _especially after what happened last time…_

"I don't, but funerals are for the benefit of the living." Harry replied, kneeling by Arya's side. She was barely conscious. At one point she'd opened her emerald eyes, fixing him and Eragon with a gaze that could only be described as regal, but after a few seconds her eyelids tiredly fluttered close. Harry knew better than to wake her with magic. It would hardly help her situation. "How would you heal an elf?"

"Usually healers would locate the wound and direct their magic to that spot, but since we don't know enough we can only hope that there are no internal injuries. Of course, it's also possible to flood her entire body with magic and command it to heal, but the power that would take… Even Riders might run the risk of being drained and dying."

Harry nodded. "Luckily we have these," he said, pulling out a bottle of the healing draught he'd made in Angela's shop from his potion chest. He opened the seal and, despite Arya's weak resistance, carefully poured its content down her throat. "In principle it should work as well for elves as it would for humans. The first dose should be effective within the hour."

Beside him, Eragon was watching Arya's face with an entranced expression. Harry silently made note of this. Eragon would no doubt find Arya very beautiful, and after what Angela had said, he wouldn't be surprised if Eragon was really in love with her. It was a happy development, but it would inevitably make matters much more complicated. _Three things are constant among all worlds, _he thought with a sigh, _magic, souls, and love. Or maybe it's all one thing after all?_

Eragon offered to take the first watch. Murtagh and Harry were more than grateful to get rest, and each settled down on a clean piece of earth at first opportunity. Brom, however, stayed by Eragon's side. "I know you've eavesdropped on me in Teirm," he said after a while.

"I had a right to know if what you talked about concerned me or Saphira!" Eragon retorted defensively, though he kept his volume down so as not to wake their sleeping friends.

Brom merely shrugged at this. "I suppose if you weren't so suspicious you wouldn't be worth my time. It's time I provide a decent answer to your questions. You wanted to know what Tronjheim is?"

"It's associated with the Vardens, isn't it? And how are you involved?"

"Quite right. Tronjheim is where the dwarves retreated to after Galbatorix came into power, but its doors have since been opened to human refugees as well. The Vardens have many strongholds, but Tronjheim is by far their greatest sanctuary. Can you see why Tronjheim was a favourable location?"

Eragon thought. "Was it well protected?"

"Yes, but more importantly, it was a potential incubator for good relationships between races. This was the reason I gave when I suggested Tronjheim to the first of the Vardens."

"You chose the Varden headquarter!"

Brom nodded. "Yes. I had to contribute some wisdom, as one of its founders."

Eragon took some time to mull this over. "But if you were so important, why become a story teller? Why settle down in Carvahall?"

"After the Vardens got hold of Saphira's egg, they asked me to train the new Rider when she hatches," Brom decided on the half-lie, "I was supposed to hide until I was summoned. Maybe that's why the egg appeared near Carvahall. The courier might've thought that I could keep it safe."

Eragon didn't interrupt, so he continued. "The Vardens would've wanted me to take you to Tronjheim as soon as I found you, but I was worried. Their politics is dangerous in its own way, Eragon. They might send you on missions you're not ready for just to make a statement. I wanted to prepare you first, in our travels, before introducing you to Dormnad, my designated contact in Gi'lead."

"But we're in Gi'lead now," Eragon realized.

"True," Brom agreed, "and I suppose you'll be demanding that we go to him first thing in the morning."

To his surprise, Eragon hesitated. "I'm not sure," he eventually admitted, "I want to help, but I don't want to spend my entire life fighting as the Vardens do."

"You don't have to decide now. I can always take you to Tronjheim myself, though they might not remember me after I've disappeared for so long. I have a feeling that they would be friendlier if Dormnad was with us… But nevermind. We risk our lives by entering Gi'lead without Harry's help, and I doubt he and Murtagh would be keen on going to the Vardens in the first place."

"I see…" And they both contemplated the unspoken question.

_How long before we'll have to part?_

* * *

**Erm... sorry for the very late update. I've been kind of busy lately**


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